Arcane Land
by Alpha Ori
Summary: Elladan and Melven travel to the Greenwood on the warrior exchange program, to serve with Legolas in The Company. Follow them through hardship and sacrifice, friendship and love as they journey into Arcane Land and beyond.
1. Mantle of Responsibility

Arcane Land

Summary

Elladan and Melven travel to the Greenwood on the warrior exchange program, to serve with Legolas in The Company. Follow them through hardship and sacrifice, friendship and love as they journey into Arcane Land and beyond.

Author's note: This is the first story in The Protégé Book II. You should read the first book in order to enjoy this story to its fullest, but it will stand alone.

Beta reader: Mindirith

Chapter One: Mantle of Responsibility

It had been many long days since he had bidden goodbye to Glorfindel of Gondolin on the borders of Imladris. The image of the golden warrior sitting proudly upon his mighty white charger would stay with him always - his armor glimmering in the morning sun, the cool breeze softly blowing his blond locks behind him, fully baring his beautiful face, his mien one of intense sadness and regret, yet there was also stubbornness and steely defiance, for he would not let the tears fall. His horse had danced to the side then, snickering and puffing loudly as if to shake his master from his melancholy mood, as Legolas somehow found it within himself to smile sorrowfully before raising his arm high in a silent, tempered farewell. Wheeling his own steed around, he galloped to the front line of the caravan under his command, not once looking back lest he lose his composure.

The journey had been surprisingly uneventful, and Legolas had spent most of it reminiscing on the days he had spent in the Valley with his lovers. Oh, but the times they had had! The joy he had felt, the light-hearted existence he had lived. He had not felt so frolicsome and high-spirited since before joining and then creating his own patrols into the southernmost reaches of the ancient forest, back when he was still innocent of spirit and blissfully unaware of the nature of darkness and its effects on an elven soul.

Yet now was the time to face the battle once more. It would be hard, he knew, for getting back into the fray and reconstructing the mask of well-being, which, as a servant of his people, he was obliged to wear, was no easy task at all. Only his father and Lainion were allowed to see his suffering.

And yet there was also much to look forward to. He would see his father again, Lainion, who was a brother to him, sweet Alastegiel, his cousin, and his men, his loyal, faithful men. There was much cause for joyous anticipation, except that he was bereft – of love.

They had ridden over the mountains without event, except for a few damaged wagon wheels which had been quickly repaired. The weather had been kind, and they had made the crossing in record time, for a caravan of sixty elves, that is. Legolas was surprised, for recent events had pointed to a high-risk sojourn, yet where the orcs were now, he could only guess.

They were now in the flat, grassy lands that would lead them to the Old Ford later this afternoon – they were finally near the shores of the Anduin, and he knew that from there eastward, it would start to feel like home again, and thus, the mantle of responsibility, the onus of duty, and the all-too-familiar dull ache of grief began to descend upon him once more, as fog descends upon the heated land. It was not that he had not missed his forest, for he had, more than he could express. He had missed his father, his friends, his men, the Greenwood. Yet would that he could add to that the joy he had found in the valley, and the peace and light it radiated. There was still a little of that left in his home – just an iota that he and his army fought with nail and tooth to protect, yet what a price came from that struggle.

Elladan rode on his right, together with the inseparable Galdithion. They had struck up quite the friendship since their departure. The royal guard had taken it upon himself to instruct the Noldorin lord and lieutenant on the geography and wildlife of the Greenwood, explaining the different trees that could be found, their properties, the animals and insects that lived in the forest, which to avoid and so on. Melven listened attentively, yet remained silent as he took in his surroundings.

This is what he had wanted, had needed. He had left his wife and young son in Imladris, and although he loved them dearly, he needed this experience. He had been deeply moved by what had happened during the prince's – nay king's visit to Imladris. He had been profoundly and fundamentally changed – and it had opened his eyes. He had realized that he had fallen into a routine that he was not contented with. He loved his wife, but she perpetuated that routine, encouraged it, even, and he was slowly but surely, becoming a monster; an unyielding, intolerant, bored and judgmental lieutenant with little chance of advancing in the army he served.

He was a warrior, a Noldorin warrior, and so very proud of his heritage, yet he had squandered it, but for no longer, for now was the time to shine. He would open himself to this new experience, become a better elf, a better warrior; he would serve this Sylvan-Sindarin king for a year and then – he would see what life had in store for him.

Elladan too, had considered his candidature long and hard, for to become separated from Elrohir was a challenge in itself – they had always been together, done things together, decided things together. The result had been that while Elrohir had found his vocation in the healing arts, and in diplomacy, Elladan had fallen behind in his – that of the warrior. He had become complacent, had hesitated to continue his training because Elrohir was simply not interested. And so he had felt incomplete. The exchange program had been just what he needed to finally take that step – alone.

However his new-found friendship with Galdithion had softened the burden of separation. He was shocked and surprised to think that he had shared but a cursory acquaintance with him for almost the entirety of the wood elves' visit to Imladris; it had only been during the last few days when they had truly begun to know one another, after that day by the stream, when Galdithion smiled at him and the world had faded away.

Thus the day progressed, with the foremost elves in the line lost to their thoughts, each pondering or reminiscing on recent events, and those still to come. For the rest of the entourage, spirits were high as the scent of the forest began to tickle their sensitive noses, pine and earth, moss and fresh green grass, sage and laurel, nuts and berries - the aromas of their woodland home.

The ford was now in sight and Legolas brought himself back to the present, turning in his saddle and beckoning to Gondien, his captain.

"Gondien, get the wagons into single file, and then cross with half the unit. Send two scouts out – we will await your signal before crossing."

"Aye, sir!" confirmed Gondien, wheeling his horse away to do his Lord's bidding.

It would take a while for the scouts to reconnoiter the area, and so Legolas called a halt for food and refreshment, but with strict orders to not break the line. If there was any trouble on the other side, they would need to be ready to move at short notice.

"You expect trouble, my Lord?" asked Melven.

"No, lieutenant, but we have fallen into the routine of insuring we are not taken unawares – nothing can happen if we are on guard, yet disaster could ensue should we trust to appearances."

Melven simply nodded – it made sense, but it gave him an insight into just how dangerous this forest was.

Forty minutes later, and Galdithion gave the order to saddle up and move out.

Melven, Elladan and Legolas sat upon their chargers on the river bank, watching as Galdithion organized the shuttle – three wagons each crossing, which took around 15 minutes. It would take them at least an hour to get them all across, and Legolas would be on full alert, as he knew Gondien would be on the other side, for they were at their most vulnerable here.

Legolas glanced over at Elladan, who was watching the process with interest, taking in every detail, no doubt, thought Legolas. His eyes wandered over the warrior's body, so like that of his lover's, yet not so, for what had first attracted Legolas to this warrior's father was his wisdom, his experience of life, his strong aura, yet the likeness was astounding, even the quirks and facial expressions, the accent, intonation, he was constantly reminded of his dark Lore Master.

"Elladan, your quiver is buckled closed."

"Aye, …" he replied somewhat inquisitively, not quite sure what Legolas was concerned about.

"Open it, and keep it open, if you please. Melven, you too."

The two Imladrian warriors looked at each other, puzzled, before obliging the commander. Of course they would have unbuckled their quivers had it come to battle and arrows, they would have more than enough time, surely.

However, Legolas did not elaborate, he simply sat atop his horse, watching and listening, and Elladan and Melven were loathe to interrupt him.

The last wagons had arrived on the opposite bank, and so Legolas and the remaining warriors readied themselves to board the shuttle and move out – yet before they could do so, Legolas' head shot to the right, over his shoulder, his long blonde locks whipping the side of his face. There was danger, approaching fast from the west.

"Galdithion! Ambush to the west!" he shouted.

Melven and Elladan looked at each other and then at the warriors around them, who already had their bows drawn, facing the direction in which their Lord stared.

Somewhat abashed, they retrieved their own bows and fitted their arrows, joining their Sylvan comrades as they waited for the orcs to appear from the tree line. They had been slow, even with their quivers unbuckled!

"Can we not make the crossing before engagement?" Elladan whispered urgently to the commander.

"Nay, we would not make it far enough to be out of their range – we would be sitting ducks".

However, his face changed as his head tilted to the side, and then – he smiled!

"Barabor has arrived!" he shouted, as a cheer went up around them, and from across the river where Gondien watched diligently.

"Come!" said Legolas, as he ran to the platform, his warriors behind him.

The ropes creaked as they tensed and the shuttle began to move, taking them out into the deceptively strong currents of the Great River.

They stood watching long enough to ensure that the orcs were not going to appear from behind the tree line - no sound could be heard, no clang of metal, shouts or screams. Legolas knew this was because they had not engaged – Barabor and the western detachment would have scared them off, which told him that the group had been neither large nor well-organized – they were scavenging, no doubt.

"Forgive my impertinence, my Lord, but will they not need help in the battle?" asked Melven, surprised that they had not stayed to aid their comrades.

"Nay, Melven, for there is no battle to tell of. They have not engaged, but simply dispersed. It seems the group was small and had no specific objective – they scattered as soon as our western detachment made itself known to them."

Melven was wondering how he could possibly know all that, but decided not to voice his puzzlement – yet it must have shown on his face.

"The trees, Melven," was all Legolas said.

Of course, thought Melven as he looked around him, somewhat embarrassed. The woodland warriors watched him carefully, for at the slightest expression of doubt, they would take offence, of that Elladan, too, was sure.

"Of course, my Lord, forgive my ignorance," said Melven, hoping this would suffice to show he had had no intention of doubting the lord, he had simply not understood.

"Elladan, Melven, once we are settled in the Greenwood, I had thought to have you both attend a week of briefing sessions, besides what training adjustments may be necessary, before riding out with me and The Company. It will make it easier for you both to understand how we do things here, and why. I know that unbuckled quivers sounds strange, even to the most seasoned of warriors, yet here, there are – things, that you will need to be aware of – and open quivers is one of them," he said, as he smiled kindly before continuing with his explanation.

"You will find that warfare almost always starts with archery in the woods, whereas in Imladris I assume it to be swords. The enemy almost always attacks through the tactic of ambush – sudden, no warning save for what the trees can tell me. It is paramount that you can draw and shoot in an instant, indeed it is a skill that we will work on while you are here, so please, do not forget, it may seem like a pointless detail to you now, but later, when you have accompanied us on our patrols, you will see the importance of it."

"I trust you, Legolas – we, trust you," said Elladan, looking over at Melven. "However, I thank you for the explanation, for I can see we both have much to learn," he added humbly.

They smiled then, as the three warriors clapped each other on the shoulders, and the lord's unit visibly relaxed, nodding their approval at the outcome of the tense situation.

"Once the briefing and training is finished, you will be sworn in as Greenwood warriors and thrust into the wilds! Then we will see your worth!"

"Ahh!" jeered the warriors good-naturedly, for they knew there was some fun to be had with these Noldorin lieutenants – and they were not going to miss it.

"What - there is a ceremony of some kind, my Lord?" asked Melven, wondering what 'sworn in' meant in the Greenwood.

He simply gave them both a feral smile as he said, "Oh _yes,_" and the warriors laughed as they slapped their thighs, much as Celeborn was wont to do. 'Must be a Sylvan thing,' thought Elladan. And so they both found themselves looking at each other, dumbfounded again, yet their faces promptly broke out into an evil grin, both thinking about just how interesting this adventure was going to be.

…

That night, they camped just outside the borders of the forest. The wagons had been moved into a circular formation, with the camp set up in the middle. The watches had been set with ten warriors, which would allow three rotations during the night. Legolas himself had set out with a group of hunters for some fresh meat for the evening meal.

Elladan sat together with Melven, Galdithion and Gondien, talking quietly. The day had been rather eventful, and both Noldorin warriors felt their acute disadvantage. They were eager to get to the Greenwood and start their 'briefing' as Legolas had called it, for they could very well cause an incident through their ignorance, and there was nothing further from their minds.

Galdithion had seen this, and had 'recruited' the services of Captain Gondien. Together they would try to set their minds at ease.

"Lord Elladan, Melven, you must not be worried at the reaction of the warriors this afternoon," said the captain, as he handed them both a steaming cup of mint tea. "Your reactions were logical for those who have no experience of our realm, 'tis no smudge upon your good reputations. These warriors are simply loyal to a fault to their king and commander – they will tolerate nothing they perceive as a slight, whoever it should come from."

"We had noticed," said Elladan, smiling into his cup. "Yet there was naught further from our minds, Gondien. I hope they realize this."

"Indeed they do, my Lord, for if they didn't , you would both be dead."

Melven swallowed hard as he hid his face behind his tea. He really needed to school his mouth, lest he find himself bereft of his tongue. For he had no doubt these fey warriors would slice it out of his mouth without the slightest turn of the stomach, and wear it as an earring, perhaps.

Galdithion chuckled then. "I had thought that Gondien would put your minds at rest and yet he has done naught but petrify you – why Melven, you look ashen, your eyes are sunken, and your hands are set to shaking!"

Elladan wondered why Galdithion was talking so loudly, until he realized he was talking so that all could hear what he said, for this was their vengeance - they were mocking him, and Melven was suddenly mortified.

"Well," said Melven, equally loudly and taking his chances, "what did you expect, Lieutenant? For one look from a feral Sylvan warrior is enough to loosen the bowels of the most seasoned of warriors!"

A roar went up amongst the warriors as they laughed outrageously, thoroughly approving of Melven's comeback as they wandered over to him, slapping him thunderously on the back, showing him that there was no hard feeling between them, and that they had appreciated his generous wit. Elladan for his part, was impressed by this once mediocre lieutenant, who was swiftly becoming source of pride to his homeland.

When it was over and peace reigned once more before the hearth, Gondien addressed Melven once more.

"So you see, Lieutenant. This is our way. Do you think perhaps, that you can be happy? Serving with us?"

Melven watched Gondien closely. He liked him, he thought then. He was commanding, loyal, yet his question was sincere, his interest in his wellbeing was genuine.

"Yes, Captain, I believe I will be very happy, serving with you."

…

Eruanna Gaerwyniel walked over to the hearth where her Noldorin lord sat, sharing tea with the Greenwood captain and Melven, a pot in her hands and a satchel slung over her shoulder.

"Eruanna," welcomed Elladan, hoping against hope that she was there for the reason he thought she was.

"Have you come to work your magic on the Greenwood rabbits?" His mouth watered at the thought, his eyes wide in anticipation.

She giggled then, for he looked like a starving child rescued from the clutches of Far Harad.

"Well, my Lord. If someone would procure me with the rabbits, I would gladly oblige."

"Then we are in luck," shouted Legolas, as he appeared at their side, his bow over his shoulder and a string of rabbits hanging from his outstretched hand, another brown bag hanging heavily from his belt.

"Ah, a feast awaits us, my Lords!" exclaimed a plethoric Melven. For he was thoroughly enjoying himself. He had missed this – camaraderie of warriors, life on the road, hearty game stew and a few bawdy tales.

"Then work your magic, sweet Eruanna, and these humble warriors will forever be in your debt, my Lady!" said Legolas, making her giggle once more as she set the pot over the fire and began her creation.

Taking off his bow, Legolas sat and accepted a cup of mint tea from Gondien, as he handed Eruanna the bag which he had filled with roots and herbs he knew could be used for a most succulent stew, eliciting an audible intake of breath from the cook as she dug her hands inside and pulled out the treasures within.

"Tell me, Lord Elladan, enquired the king. Why did you decide to come with us to the Greenwood? What were your motivations?"

"I want to learn to become a better warrior, and although it sounds strange, away from my brother."

"How so? For you are close, this much I know. I also know that Glorfindel would teach you much, should you so wish. Why then, in the Greenwood?"

The others listened respectfully, as Elladan measured his words, for he was not sure he was happy to air his thoughts in public, before Melven, Galdithion, Gondien, amongst others, yet he thought perhaps that Legolas had asked purposefully, deeming it good that his men empathize with his venture, and so he answered as best he could.

"Elrohir and I have always been together, worked together, planned everything together. We influence each other as no other can. The reason I am not yet a captain, is because I have not studied enough, have not trained enough – I am simply not good enough, my Lord. And although you are right in that Glorfindel would make me the best warrior I can be – I need to do this alone, away from Elrohir, for he would not be a good influence, albeit he would be blissfully unaware of it. He would drag me into his plans without realizing that my vocation is not his. Aye, I am a healer and I would not give that up, but I am not a diplomat or a scientist, I am not a lore master, but a warrior at heart. And if I cannot achieve my goal with Glorfindel in Imladris, then there is no other place for me than to train with Prince Legolas, in the Greenwood."

He held the king's gaze then, and knew he had expressed himself well, for the lord smiled beautifully as he dipped his head.

"Then be you most welcome in my realm, Lord Elladan Elrondion. It is my sincere wish that you learn, achieve your goal, and be happy while you can."

"I know I will, for I have the best teacher."

A mighty 'aaahhh' went up amongst the warriors, as they cheered and clapped.

"And the best lieutenant!" added Galdithion, raising his voice above the din of the thoroughly-approving warriors.

"Indeed I do," replied Elladan in a measured voice, smiling in confusion, for he was indeed confounded by this woodland guard who was slowly but surely crawling under his defenses, and making his way to his guarded heart.

…

The day dawned beautifully. The sky a brilliant blue, spotted with fluffy, bubbly white clouds that floated lazily over the sky. Elladan sat up to the sound of clinking pottery as a cup entered his still cloudy vision, steam evaporating into the warm spring morning.

A lovely smile - kind, grey eyes regarded him as he accepted the offering, smelling the mint and honey before taking a tentative sip.

"Ah, that is good. It is early," observed Elladan, as he sipped at his tea. The camp was still set up, with only a few warriors walking around, fetching water and setting it to boil.

"Yes, though the warriors have already risen to secure the camp and procure water for the citizens, for it is not safe for them to do so," said Galdithion, watching as Elladan sipped at his tea, observing the way his lips would curl up prettily before sucking on the side of his cup.

"Then you should have awoken me, my friend. I will not be awarded any preferential treatment during my stay here."

"Ah, and neither will it be offered. Yet we are all waiting for you to arrive and take your briefing. Once you are given leave to patrol with The Company, then we will demand of you the same as we do of each other."

"That sounds fair," said Elladan, smiling as he finished the tea and stood to prepare himself for the day. For today, they would enter the woods for the first time, and Elladan could not wait.

…

A while later, and the caravan finally traversed the boundaries of the Greenwood, moving slowly under the eaves of the mightiest beech and ash trees that the Noldorin warriors had ever seen. The sky had become a light green, the sun shining through where it could, casting a sparkling white light onto the carpet of fallen leaves, and over the golden head of their commander.

They had not come to the Forest Road yet, but once they did, the going would be much easier, for they would not have to navigate the thick trunks.

A passing warrior clapped his hand on Elladan's shoulder, startling him from his wonder.

"Welcome to Greenwood, my Lord," he smiled as he trotted forward.

Elladan was touched as he watched the warrior do the same with Melven. They were a close-knit group indeed, these woodland warriors. Both Elladan and Melven had seen snatches of it on their journey. They were as brothers, servient to a fault with the civilians. In return, they were treated with reverence and the utmost respect. Melven had found himself quickly entranced by it all, for this is what he missed. He missed feeling important, nay _being _important, serving a purpose that was recognized and appreciated.

"Galdithion," called Elladan, drawing his horse close up beside him. "What is this carved symbol I keep seeing on some of the trees, this interlacing etched around the trunks – what is the meaning?"

Galdithion stared at him for a moment before replying.

"They are braided trees, Elladan. The interlacing is a symbol of life and death, how the two opposites cross paths, one not possible without the other, yet the design is infinite – see? There is no beginning and no end – this is our symbol of eternity, my friend."

"But why on some trees, and not on others?"

Galdithion sighed then, glancing at his commander before explaining to Elladan in the best way he could. "Because each braided tree marks the fall of a warrior, Elladan. The nearest tree to their fading site is braided, in remembrance of him…"

Elladan simply bowed his head, before sparing a glance at Melven, who had obviously been listening too, as their eyes met fleetingly.

Sometime later, a bird call alerted Legolas that the Old Forest Road had been sighted.

"Come, my friends, for from here, we are but two days ride away from my father's halls!"

A discreet cheer went up as the caravan moved with new-found energy, for indeed they were now on the road. They would be safe now, for the way was well-guarded, and although the Noldorin warriors could not see them, the trees were inhabited by what they called the 'Second Unit', the detachment of the Home Guard that watched the beginning of the road, down to a day's ride from the palace.

Bird calls, whistles and warbles were exchanged, much to the wonder of the visitors, for their imitations were perfect. They caught Legolas sending a few into the wind, a mischievous smile on his fair face. The warriors were greeting each other, it seemed to Melven, but try as he might, he could not discern for the life of him where they were.

Legolas laughed as he watched Galdithion showing Elladan how to emit the hoot of a Tawny Frogmouth, which right now sounded more like the mating call of a toad. Yet he endured until slowly but surely, the hoot emerged – not perfectly, but it _was _recognizable, much to Elladan's joy as he repeated it over and over, and the hidden warriors echoed it, laughing at his sincere attempts. Melven was empowered then and asked Gondien to show him too.

It was a jolly afternoon for them all, as slowly but surely, they moved ever closer to the Elven King's halls, an arrival that would mark the beginning of a fascinating adventure for two eager Noldorin warriors, one apprehensive young cook and one utterly terrified healer.


	2. Paradise

Author's note: some mention of sexual acts, but nothing explicit.

Beta reader: Mindirith

CHAPTER TWO: Paradise

One more night on the Old Forest Road and they would arrive. Spirits were high as the caravan relaxed the closer they got to the fortress. Here, nothing could happen to them, for Legolas' army had them within their protective embrace, and so they lowered their defenses and savoured the taste of homecoming, for it was sweet and heady.

Even Aradan, who had taken Balentar and Eruanna under his wing, ventured outside, sitting atop the wagon they had inhabited during the journey, smiling brightly as he encouraged his charges to follow him. Balentar had spent the entire way quaking in his boots, yet Eruanna felt an adventurous streak come to the fore, one she had not known she possessed. And yet she suppressed it, for her parents had instilled on her the need for precaution - too much, she mused, as she looked around her, marveling at the sights and smells that assaulted her senses.

The singing had started after the midday meal, and they would not be stopped. They improvised their words as they sung of Imladris and its beauty, of the Lady of Light and of Elrond Earendilion, but especially of Glorfindel of Gondolin – for he was a warrior, one that had given his life for his people, one that had made that ultimate sacrifice, and _that_, in the Greenwood, was unsurpassable.

Legolas smiled as he listened to them sing the praises of his lover. 'Golden-haired Protector' they called him, or 'Bright Sacrifice,' the list went on. Elladan snatched a glance at his friend then, smiling indulgently as the king's lips turned upwards ever so slightly, his eyes hazing as they turned in on themselves, the lord obviously lost to his memories of times not long past. Elladan wondered then, if he would ever find a love like that. Be that as it may, he would remember to tell Glorfindel that if he ever rode to the Greenwood, he would be received and revered as king no less.

A shrill bird call alerted the commander to the change of the guard. They were now entering the area of the First Unit, and he knew that soon, they would be hailed, as protocol dictated.

Slowing the pace of the caravan, he pulled his horse to a halt and waited for the captain to appear, for the woods had become silent, and Legolas was suddenly puzzled. They were hiding something from him, he knew, yet they seemed to be in cohorts with whoever it was that would appear before them.

A soft thud alerted Elladan and Melven that the unit had arrived, yet what they saw was – unexpected, for there, in front of the caravan, was a warrior. This was no emissary of the Home Guard – this was a field warrior. He was tall and sleek, his muscles well-defined. He wore the leather skirt and vest that Legolas did when on duty - his hair was pulled back harshly from his face, visible only as a thick plait running down his back and the adornments and protection on his arms sat proudly as a testimony to his trophies in war. A mighty bow peaked from over his shoulders and a broad sword crossed it to the other side. His face – an unreadable mask, mirrored by that of Legolas, who had dismounted and was now approaching the daunting elf.

"Hold! State your name and purpose," ordered the warrior.

"Prince Legolas Thranduilion, I return home to serve once more."

The warrior smiled warmly then, breaking the spell, as he replied to the words of his commander.

"And I am your humble Captain, my Prince, and _you_ are most welcome home – we have missed you, Hwindohtar."

Six new thuds revealed Lindohtar- the Bard Warrior, Pengon - Arrow Elf, Ram en 'Ondo - Wall of Stone, Idhrenohtar - Wise Warrior, Koron en'Naur - Fireball, Nanern - the Tale Teller – his southern detachment, otherwise known as The Company - his warriors; but what were they doing _here_?

"Form the line!" bellowed the dark warrior, waiting for his six companions to form up behind him.

"Hûr!" yelled the captain, as he began to bang his forearm vambraces together, the warriors behind him mirroring his movements. They chanted in Sylvan, stomped their feet and clapped their biceps, punching the air before them as they shouted together in perfect harmony. Their movements were synchronized, their voices one, their purpose – death to the enemies of the Greenwood.

Elladan and Melven remembered the dance from that first, memorable training day in Imladris- they had shocked and awed those that watched, yet now, seeing it performed so naturally – danced as a greeting to their commander – it made so much more sense.

Once it had finished, the warriors moved in, blocking Legolas from sight, as they clapped the prince's shoulders, clasping each other's forearms, embracing each other – for these were the elves that would give their lives the one for the other, that had shared horrors they did not care to speak of with others, that understood each other as no other could.

The Noldorin warriors looked on, and wondered then, what it would be like to be a part of that brotherhood of warriors, that circle of elves that were closer than friends - that would not hesitate to kill in order to preserve each other's existence, even unto kinslaying. And wasn't this what all elves strived for? That feeling of belonging, of being loved and loving in return, serving a purpose – wasn't this what made death more bearable? What made life worth the living?

"Camp at the Great Sequoia, my Lord. There, we will feast and sing and dance before protocol calls you to your father's presence, and your regal duties once more."

"We will, Dima. Find us a mighty venison then, for we come in hunger for a bath and hearty food."

"We will see to it! Welcome home, my Lord. We have missed you much," said Dimaethor, before disappearing as silently as he had arrived, The Company following him as they were sent off with a cheer from the warriors behind Legolas, for these soldiers were the most revered of all the Greenwood's ranks. These seven specifically, had been with Legolas since the founding of the Company, the few that had survived through the years. They were all captains by right and favor, yet they repeatedly refused the honor, for it would mean serving in a different detachment, and they would not suffer to be parted from their prince.

Legolas took a few moments to compose himself before turning back to the waiting caravan, and his horse.

Jumping into the saddle in one swift leap, he held his arm high and whipped it forward. "Come, my friends, two more hours and we will be feasting at the Great Sequoia!"

The answering roar startled the Imladrians, who flinched before promptly sitting straight once more atop their chargers, as if nothing at all had happened, sharing an amused grimace at once again being taken by surprise.

And so it was, that they started out on the two hour journey towards the revered sentinel, the Noldor still pondering the arrival of The Company, and how they would fit in with them, if, indeed, they would at all.

"Lord Elladan, why do you suppose they address him as Prince, rather than Sire, or King?" asked Melven.

"I can only assume that it is because he will need his lord father to publically recognize him as such, before he is allowed that title. Aradan mentioned some such thing the day my father proclaimed him king."

"I see. And what of their nickname for him?" he smirked.

Elladan chuckled as he recalled the name the warrior had addressed Legolas with. 'Hwindohtar.'

"'Tis fitting indeed! Is this how you envisaged the Greenwood, Melven?" asked Elladan, wondering if he was alone in his surprise.

"Nay, not at all, my Lord. I had imagined it to be far more – basic, rural, if you will. Yet look at these constructions. The flets we see high up in those trees are advanced structures, the engineering necessary to create them at that height is by no means basic, and at least on a par with the Lorien flets. And see there, that pulley system they have for the transport of water and goods – the ropes lie inside those wooden structures – they protect the cables from wear, or attack I presume."

"You are observant, Melven."

"Had I not become a warrior, I should have liked to be a planner and builder, 'tis a hobby I have neglected for years, my Lord."

"Your skill could come in handy in an army such as this. I will remember your words," said Elladan, sincerely impressed once again with his lieutenant.

Melven was sincerely pleased with himself for once. He was redeeming himself, slowly but surely he was regaining his pride and dignity, and well it suited him, he thought, as he smiled to himself. Yet he had not said the words to please or to impress, they had simply flowed, as they once had before he had bonded and allowed himself to be misled. He knew that this new environment, away from those that would mould him to their own stereotypes, would make him the elf he wished to be, he just needed to stay strong, and humble, and of course - tame his rebellious mouth.

…

As they continued along the road, the population was becoming steadily denser. Elves walked along the beaten track, transporting baskets, ewers, wood and the likes. They would stop and bow, and then wave, or shout a warrior's greeting. They seemed happy, these woodland elves – yet what astounded Elladan the most was the fact that many of the ladies carried children. He had never seen so many young ones, together in one place. They toddled behind their mothers, helping with what they could; the younger ones were strapped to their backs or sides with strips of colourful cloth. It was a marvel to behold, and just one glance at Melven told him that he too, had realized how young this population was.

Galdithion watched the play of emotions on his friend's beautiful face, he knew what he was thinking, for he had had a similar yet opposite first impression of Imladris.

"You marvel at how many young ones you see."

"I do. The average age of these people is much lower than in my homeland."

"True," he began, as Melven turned his ear to listen to Galdithion's explanation.

"Alas, our mortality rate is equally high. 'Tis a simple necessity that our women bear as many children as they can," he said casually.

Melven frowned at the warrior's comment, and it did not go unnoticed.

"Speak your mind, Melven," invited Galdithion, catching Elladan's attention as he also turned to hear his retort.

"It just seemed to me that you spoke words that would sadden the hardest of elves, and yet your tone belied no feeling at all."

"And why do you think that is?" invited Galdithion, wondering if the warrior could start to think before passing judgement.

"Well, perhaps because this is something you have lived with all your life, 'tis not surprising to you, yet it is also a daily reminder for you of the high cost you pay to protect your home."

"You are partially right in that I am not surprised – how could I be? Yet my mind must be guarded from these issues. I must suppress the emotions lest they take me to the deepest darkest pits of Dol Guldûr. All our warriors are trained to do this. It does not mean we feel less, suffer less, _cry_ less. It is a simple technique that allows us to continue doing what we do. You will see my meaning the day you attend the first funeral rites. Can you understand this, my friend?" asked Galdithion in a conciliatory tone.

Melven was horrified that he had done it again. He had shown prejudice once more. He was trying, he truly was, yet his mouth worked faster than his conscious mind. He glanced ahead at Legolas, remembering how he had done that to him not once but twice now.

He turned an appologetic expression on Galdithion then, before extricating himself once more from his ingrained intolerance.

"I ask your forgiveness, Galdithion. I have become most intolerant of late, as your Lord already knows. One of the reasons I came here was – is to learn, to change. I hope you will be more tolerant than I and help me in this task?"

"It would be my honour, Melven," replied the guard magnanimously, thought Elladan.

Sighing audibly, Melven dipped his head and turned his gaze back to the tree line and the activities within.

Legolas smiled then, catching Elladan's eyes before looking once more to the road.

Dusk was settling over them when Galdithion cantered forward at Legolas' behest. Yet he was soon back as he stopped in front of his lord's horse, wheeling his own around to face him.

"My Lord, everything has been generously disposed. We are to station the wagons here in this clearing, and continue on foot. Our horses will be bathed and fed for us."

Legolas smiled as he nodded to Galdithion, and turned his attention to the caravan.

"We will station the wagons here, and entrust our animals. We continue on foot to the Great Sequoia. You are free for the evening. I ask only that those travelling on to the fort be ready at the eighth hour to continue our march. To those leaving us here, I thank you, on behalf of my father King Thranduil, for your services during the Spring Festival. You have represented your nation and shown our Noldorin kin that we are worthy allies, that we have much to offer them, as they have to us, and you have made me so very proud to be your Prince, that I may continue to serve you for as long as the Lady permits."

A cheer went up as the travelers began to dismount horses and wagons, handing them over to the waiting elves with a nod of thanks. However, various elves approached the 'prince' then, and simply touched him on the shoulder, the arm, even his hair, before disappearing into the tree line, bound for their homes.

It was a short walk to the Great Sequoia, yet nothing could have prepared the Noldor for the sight that greeted them a short way inside the tree line, for there, stood the mightiest, most majestic tree they had ever seen. Its trunk thicker than any Mellyrn of the Golden Wood. Its roots splayed out in all directions, creating small sheltered areas that had been decked with cushions and blankets, reminiscent of the decoration that had been used on that day of demonstration, and that had proved to be so very popular.

As they walked towards the centre, marked by the massive sentinel, Galdithion held out his arms to stop the Noldor from advancing. Pulling up with an inquisitive glance at the guard, they realized that everyone had indeed stopped, except for Legolas, who continued until he was in front of the imposing trunk. He knelt then, and bowed his head as silence descended over the gathering.

A low rumbling resounded then, startling the newcomers, yet did nothing to immute the Sylvans standing perfectly still.

'Welcome, Lord of the Forests', it rumbled, comprehensible only to he who understood.

'I thank you, Father. I have come to ask permission to feast and rejoice beneath your boughs, if you will grant it.'

'I will grant it, my King. It is our pleasure to shelter you in this time of joy.'

Standing, he turned and smiled. "Let the feasting begin!" he shouted, as the people cheered, moving to this or that hearth with family or friends. They lit their fires and positioned their hunks of meat from that afternoon's bountiful hunting foray. They slathered the boar, venison and fowl with oils, herbs and honey, and sure enough, it was not long before the juices began to flow as the meat crackled and hissed into the dancing flames.

Aradan had taken Eruanna and Balentar's hands, and led them away to a hearth that beckoned to him, his cousin smiling widely as he held out arms.

"Greetings cousin," said Calanon, hugging him fondly. He looked over Aradan's shoulder then, and stood transfixed as the background faded into nothing, and he stared into the eyes of his future wife.

…..

Dimaethor had appeared before them, bearing a mischievous smile as he ushered the now smaller group to the sidelines, and to a thick trunk the Company had commissioned for themselves, their own hearth now crackling merrily as a variety of meats roasted over it, the smell of which was making Elladan's mouth water and his stomach rumble, much as the sequoia had, to the mirth of Melven and Legolas.

The warriors stood at their arrival before Legolas simply held out his hand, and they were seated once more. He turned to the Noldor then, gesturing for them to sit, which they did, nodding to their companions around the hearth, who were openly inspecting them.

Dimaethor's attention, however, had quickly returned to his lord.

"You have changed, my Lord," began Dima, staring at Legolas' hair before returning to his brilliant green eyes.

"Aye," he smiled. "That I have, yet it is a long story, perfect for our first night of patrol, one I am sure Nanern will elaborate on," he finished, smiling slyly.

"Now," began Legolas, eager to change the subject. "These warriors are my men; together we make up The Company, as we have come to be known. You, I hope, will become a part of that company soon, and so we shall introduce ourselves to you. I, am Hwindohtar - Twirling Warrior, named for my peculiar fighting style. I was named by Ram en' Ondo after my second patrol as a lieutenant. However, Lindohtar often tells a different story, for he swears it was _he_ who named me after a night of feasting, when I had indulged myself too much, and struck a strange dance that I myself do not remember!"

They all laughed as Lindohtar spoke next.

"I, am Lindohtar - the Bard Warrior. I was named by Imrathon. My story is not so merry, for I was young and impressionable; it was, perhaps my fourth or fifth foray into the south, when we lost him. I was so saddened that I sang a lament as he passed in my arms. His last words to me were, 'I name you 'Lindohtar', for what better way to die, than to the sound of your sweet voice.'"

The other warriors' eyes were swimming, as some of them had been there, Legolas included.

"Hûr Imrathon," he said then, as he was answered by his men, almost as if they saluted one that was present, thought Melven.

Lindohtar busied himself by offering the Noldor and his companions their glasses, filling them with rich, heady wine, as his comrades continued with their introductions.

"I, am Dimaethor – Silent Warrior, lieutenant of the Company, and captain when our Lord is absent. I was named by Pengon - Arrow Elf. I would like to say that he named me for my extraordinary skills at stealth, yet woe this is not so. I too, was young and inexperienced. We were on a stealth mission high in the trees, collecting intelligence on a band of wandering orcs. In my enthusiasm to see the deed done, I leant out too far, and – crashed to the ground, forcing the Company to engage. We overcame, fortunately, but it was my ploughing through the trees that had stuck in Pengon's mind, and I was thoroughly teased for months after."

A collective 'oohh' went out, as the stories continued, Elladan and Melven now avidly sipping their wine, enthralled with these warriors and their tales.

"I am Ram en' Ondo, Wall of Stone. I was named by Hwindohtar. During a training session on speed and agility, we were sent around a clearing, to run and cartwheel, summersault and side twist. Now, Hwindo has always excelled in this, and had caught tremendous momentum that he could not control, and promptly crashed into me, thoroughly winding himself."

They all laughed at the memory of it, for their prince had been on his hands and knees gasping for breath for a good two minutes.

"It took him a while to get his breath back before sitting up and blithely calling me 'Ram en 'Ondo.,' – Wall of Stone.

Again they laughed hard, now joined by Melven and Elladan, who were thoroughly enjoying the themselves as they sipped on the excellent wine that Lindo had served them with.

"I, am Pengon - Arrow Elf, named by Idhrenohtar. Nay! I am not the best archer of the Greenwood – 'tis that I have been skewered more times than we can count - I have a penchance for attracting black arrows!"

There were collective grimaces as the stories continued.

"I, am Idhrenohtar - Wise Warrior, for I am, indeed wise," he paused, as his fellows chuckled and jeered.

"However, I was named by Koron en' Naur, for we each acquired our names for the same incident, and named each other accordingly. We were attacked by black wolves, and so we lit torches to stay them. Unfortunately, my torch caught the hem of Koron en's cape, which promptly caught fire. I ripped my own cape off and wrapped him in it, patting wildly at his body until the flames had gone. He named me Wise Warrior for sarcasm, but also for saving him from the flames. And of course I named him, for he had looked for all the life of him as a mighty ball of fire!"

They laughed again at the memory. It had not been funny at the time, but it had not taken them long to start the teasing and laughing.

"And I, I am Nanern, Teller of Tales, named by Ram en'. I know not why, my Lords, for I have no skill at story-telling. Now if we talk of warfare, archery and skill with the short swords, I will not say I am _not _skilled, for I _am_. I fought a troll with them, bringing it down by the sheer force of my right arm, for it was huge, so huge I could not see its head…"

"So you see," interrupted Ram en', "he is indeed, our Tale Teller, for he can spin a yarn so fantastic he would put your wildest dreams to shame!"

The chuckling finally died down as the bottle was passed round again.

"And you, my Lords," inquired Idhrenohtar, "do you not have warrior names in Imladris?"

"Ah, well, no. Nick names, but nothing that is used exclusively on the battlefield. I am simply Elladan, he is Melven."

"But that must be remedied!" exclaimed Pengon. "My Lord, you say you will have them patrol with us?"

"Yes, after some briefing and training, they will accompany us for a while."

"Then worry not, my friends, for you will soon be gifted with a name you deserve!"

"Then please, be kind, my friends, and in return, I will try not to get punctured, set on fire, fall out of mammoth trees or engage headless trolls!" exclaimed Elladan.

And the laughter was back as they opened another bottle.

…..

Idhrenohtar buried his knife into the chunk of sizzling venison, testing its readiness. It was indeed done, and so he carved off a succulent piece and placed it into a large leaf and handed it to his captain before serving the visitors and then the warriors.

Legolas had long given up protesting this deference they paid him, for it had been to no avail, and so now, he simply accepted their respect.

They ate in silence, listening to the woodland songs and percussion that had struck up on the other side of the clearing.

"You must be tired, my Lords," stated Koron en'.

"Yes, yet pleasantly so in my case," said Elladan. He did feel tired, but had no intention of sleeping, not with all this wonderous food, drink and partying to be had, he was a Noldor after all - Elrohir would be beside himself if he knew what he was missing, and of course, Elladan would indeed be telling him all about it.

"Perhaps you would care for a bath," asked Legolas blithely.

"Oh a bath, how wonderful!" exclaimed Melven.

"Oh yes, _please_!" said Elladan.

"And I trust you have already bathed, my warriors?"

"Oh aye," they chorused, chuckling as the four elves made their way to the lake.

"My friends, you should know that the bath is public. There will be helpers there at your service."

"At our service?" asked Elladan.

"Yes," replied Galdithion. "They have soaps and oils, they will wash your hair, your body, and perform – other services – if you so wish."

"Er…" said Melven, not quite sure if he was missing something, for Elladan was smirking, and Legolas' eyebrows had shot to his hairline.

"He means, Melven, that they will offer you company, _intimate_ company, should you wish it."

"OOOhhh, I seeee," he exclaimed, feeling somewhat embarrassed for not having understood sooner, yet the thought of indulging in sex with one other than his wife quickly changed his chagrin into lust.

"'Tis not obligatory, Melven," soothed Legolas. "Just let them service you, and then you either accept or refuse their advances – they will not be angry, but simply move on to the next bather, should he or she take their fancy."

"Oh," he said again rather lamely, yet his breeches were beginning to stretch as he thought of the possibilities – it had been so long and he was hard just thinking about it.

Elladan shared a smile with Legolas and Galdithion as they walked purposefully to the shores of the beautiful, tree-lined lake. It was small and shady, yet there were cushions and lanterns in every nook and cranny, naked elves both male and female, sauntering here and there, amongst the rocks, in the water.

Some were washing, others being washed, while others kissed and touched. However, it was on the far banks that Elladan saw the white shining bodies undulating together in various positions. Some over rocks, others on the ground, against tree trunks, or simply standing, as they were pleasured.

Melven stared open-mouthed, as Elladan grinned saucily at what he saw, his own cock reacting more than efficiently to the stimulus.

"For obvious reasons, we call this 'Love Lake,'" smiled Legolas, as he began to pull off his clothing. No sooner had he reached for the clasps of his leather vest, and he was surrounded by half naked males and females, touching him on the shoulder or taking a lock of his hair. The two Noldorin warriors watched the interaction, noticing how Legolas would nod his head slightly to this and then that elf. Looking back over his shoulder he smiled as he addressed them one more time that evening.

"Have fun, my friends."

And with that, he was lost in a sea of elves, divesting him of his garments as they ushered him into the cool sweet waters of Love Lake.

It was not long before they too were surrounded, yet the elves were more hesitant with the strangers. Galdithion however, had simply vanished from their side.

Elladan hid his disappointment, and smiled at them as they eased forward a little, one male touching his hair. He was very pretty, and so Elladan nodded at him, at which he beamed beautifully, his full mouth offering Elladan all kinds of lusty possibilities. A woman touched his arm, looking up at him with the raunchiest expression he had ever seen on a elf – and so he nodded again. It was not long before he too, was being ushered to the waters, his clothes slowly but surely disappearing.

Now Melven was no prude, but he _was_ out of practice. He stared hopelessly at them all, for if it was up to him, he would have them all, one after the other.

One elf stepped up to him and cupped his cheek then, wearing the most kindly, loving expression any elf had offered him, and he melted into it, dropping his head and moving into the touch. They all stepped forward then, as if suddenly understanding that this elf need comfort more than most, he was devoid of attention, affection. And so they surrounded him as they whisked him away to the waters, and to paradise.


	3. Prodigal Sons

Prodigal Sons

Author's note: The beginning of this chapter has been edited to comply with ffnet policies. You can read the original NC-17 version at adultfanfiction dot net.

Beta reader: Mindirith

The night had been long, and the companions were to be found scattered around Love Lake, or inside the glade, around their camp fire. Galdithion had met up with Elladan, who he had found adjusting his clothing as he slowly navigated his way back to the Great Sequoia.

"Well, how do you fare this morning, my friend?"

"Oh _wonderful,_ Gal. However, how I shall hold my saddle I have no idea!" he chuckled as Galdithion clapped him on the shoulder jovially, yet Elladan had seen a flicker of uncertainty, before it had been deftly erased under the façade of carefree banter.

"And you, Gal?" asked Elladan as nonchalantly as he could, not quite managing to look at his friend.

"I will hold my saddle," he answered as he smiled kindly. The truth was that the guard had not dared make his move. It had been the perfect opening, yet he had hesitated, and now he sorely regretted it, for he had noticed the tone in which Elladan had made his enquiry, it had been inquisitive, probing, wistful even. He realized that Elladan was unsure of how Galdithion felt about him. He would need to remedy this soonest, lest he lose his chance at wooing the son of Elrond – for he would be mercilessly coveted in the Greenwood and then, perhaps, he would lose him forever. He suddenly realized that the notion hurt him, for a stab of regret had pierced his heart – yet he would not let it show, not now.

"Come, let us find our wayward king and retrieve him from his admirers," he leered as Elladan's eyes shot up to his hairline.

"Well, perhaps we should wait, I mean, what if he hasn't finished or something, I would not want to intrude! We could search for Melven first, and then…"

"Wherefore this prudishness, Elladan? You are no heterosexual, and the thought of finding Legolas naked should not be one to avoid."

"Under normal circumstances no, but Gal, he, he is – he is my _father's lover_ – I cannot covet him in that way!" said Elladan, a frown marring his lovely face.

Galdithion laughed uproariously as he clapped his hands.

"Oh, my word, but you surprise me! Let me tell you that Legolas would not take you either, for that very same reason, but that would not stop him from admiring your body, my friend. And should he ever cease to lie with your father, he would have no scruples about a tumble with _you_."

"Oh…," was all Elladan could enunciate, wondering at the implications of Galdithion's words.

A few moments later, they came across a shady corner of the lake, where six elves slept naked, their bodies entwined in a mass of arms, muscled thighs, breasts and taut backsides. Legolas stirred in their midst then as their shadow fell over him, looking up and shading his eyes with his arms.

"Uugh, is it time?" he asked as he began to extricate himself from the mass of flesh.

"Yes, my Lord. If you will?"

"Of course, Lieutenant. Give me a moment," he said as he sat up now, smiling at his lovers as they, one by one, kissed him and left. However, instead of dressing, he jogged to the shore and dived into the water, and was lost for a good while. He surfaced further out, shaking his head and swimming back to them, emerging from the lake as a golden god, for he was indeed glory to behold, thought Elladan, watching in fascination as the water ran down his rippling muscles, dripping from his nipples, his fingertips, his perfectly formed sex.

Legolas simply watched him as he passed him by, reaching for a skirt from Galdithion's outstretched hand. 'So much like Elrond,' he thought, as he wrapped the leather around him, leaving himself otherwise naked and dripping as he marched towards the glade and the sweet smells of breakfast, wondering where on Arda Melven had gotten himself to.

As they entered the woods, they found their hearth full of jolly, chuckling elves. Pengon cracked eggs into a pot as Koron en' roasted bread over the fire. Ram en' prepared the tea as Lindo distributed the plates. They had sliced the left-over boar from yesterday's feast which was now being shared out, along with the eggs and the hot, crispy toast. Lindo held the first plate out to his lord, who accepted it with both hands, waiting until all had been provisioned before beginning his morning ritual.

The crunching of leaves and the snapping of twigs alerted them that the remaining member of their group was approaching, yet this was not the Melven they remembered from the night before – nay. He was changed, for he was _beautiful_, thought Lindo, as he strolled over to the fire, wearing only his breeches, carrying the rest of his gear which he set down before sitting at the fire. His chest was muscled but not overly so, his hair in disarray, a new light in his lovely grey eyes.

"Lindo, I will snatch the egg from your mouth if you do not close it," muttered Koron en', smirking at his comrade who had been struck dumb by Melven.

Legolas smiled as he watched the interaction, lifting an eyebrow at Elladan, who lifted both.

…..

Sometime later, the elves that would move on to the fortress had gathered at the accorded time, waiting for their leader to take them in to the Greenwood proper.

Legolas had said farewell to his men, agreeing to meet with them in a few days time for briefing and timetabling, and that for the moment, they were officially on leave. This time, the cheer that went up did not startle the Noldorin warriors, who glanced at one another in satisfied surprise, before smiling merrily at their own antics. However, Lindo's eyes strayed for a moment longer over the lovely form of Melven, who was woefully unaware of his scrutiny, unaware of the attractive, alluring male he had become.

Their horses were a charming sight, for their coats shone, their tac was clean, the buckles and clasps glinting in the morning sun, crins entwined with sweet-smelling flowers, perfect for a joyful homecoming.

Legolas smiled as he saddled up, not before noticing Melven as he took his seat, a wince of discomfort fleeting over his undoubtedly handsome mien. It was amazing – what a night of unbridled sex could do for an elf, he thought then, as he turned his attention back to this task, wiping the rebellious smirk from his face, and silently wishing Lindo luck in the hunt.

Lifting his arm in a sign to move forward, the score of horses proudly moved forward at a comfortable walk; soon, they would stand in luxury in the stables of the Greenwood, where they would be fed with oats as their carers sang to them.

Elladan watched Legolas as he took in the sights, sounds and smells of his homeland. He looked beautiful, as he always did, but there was a hint of melancholy below the surface that the Noldo had captured easily. He was sad, yet resigned, and he knew why. He knew that Glorfindel would be missing his new-found love, and his father – and well, who could blame them? For this elf's body was irresistible to any and all, including his sister, who was in utter thrall of him.

….

The way was slowly becoming more populated. Many elves now stood to one side of the path, bowing and waving. One little boy escaped his mother's restraining arms and ran to his prince's horse, as he held up a little pot plant that had no flowers, its leaves a sickly yellow.

Legolas signaled to stop as he bent low over his horse's neck, touching the plant lovingly.

"You must not overwater it, young one. Touch the earth every morning, and if a small bit sticks to your fingers, don't water it – can you do that?" he asked.

"Yes, pince, thank you!" he lisped, watching in childish awe as the leaves recuperated their vibrant green colour and small buds began to peak from their folds – behind his little plant was the startling face of his prince, his eyes a sparkling, vibrant green, a saucy smile upon his lips. The boy swiveled, almost toppling over in his enthusiasm as he held the plant up for his mother to see, before running to her and jumping with joy. As the party moved out, the woman and her companions held out their arms as if to touch him, a sign of ultimate respect, to which he nodded humbly, sparing one last amused glance at the euphoric imp.

…

A short while later, and Elladan was peering off into the distance, for a stone construction loomed on the horizon. It had to be very tall, he deduced, for they were still a good hour's walk away. Melven for his part, was once more struck by the sophistication of these constructions.

"My Lord, is that the entrance to the fortress?" he asked.

"Aye, impressive is it not?" said Legolas.

"Indeed, my Lord," he said with childish wonder, for the closer they got, the more detail he was able to discern.

It was a fortified wall; the arch he supposed, was the main gateway. The doors, set into the solid stone, were made of oak with iron reinforcements running the entire width of each leaf, it was an imposing structure, yet dark, and daunting – not at all what the Noldo had expected for the dwelling of the wood elves, if he had to make a guess, he would be inclined towards dwarven craftsmanship, although since when the wood elves had been on such good terms, Melven could not say. He realized then, that the wall had a walkway at its pinnacle, for tiny spots could be made out, moving from one side to the other; however, a screen of trees barred any further detail of what lay to the side.

"Legolas, this is – huge – I have never seen the likes, I tell you," said Elladan, genuinely awed at what he was seeing.

"This is what it takes to keep the enemy away from us – and our people safe. Would that I could rip it down and reveal the splendor within, alas, I cannot."

Melven had guessed as much, for the walls seemed out of character, yet a necessary addition to their realm, no doubt. It only made him more impatient to see what lay within, as he fidgeted surreptitiously in his saddle.

They were closer now, as the wall and towering doors loomed over them with a power that humbled them all.

"See there, Elladan," began Galdithion, "see the figures carved into the merlons on the crenellations?"

"You must excuse my ignorance, my friend, but what is a crenellation?"

Melven gave thanks he was not the only one that hadn't understood as he listened to the guard's explanations.

"The crenellation is the area at the top of the wall. The space our warriors have to stand guard, fire from, and so forth. The merlons are the equidistant stones along the crenellations, you see?" he said enthusiastically as he pointed to them.

"Now look carefully, for the merlons are not simple stones, but carvings, statues."

"Statues?" blurted Melven. "Statues of what?"

It was Legolas who continued the explanation.

"Statues of those gone before us, those that gave their lives for their land, my comrades, my warriors." His voice tapered off as a lump formed in his throat as it always did when he returned home.

Galdithion, who knew him better than most, fell back slightly, pleased to see that both Elladan and Melven followed his lead.

"Remember that I am his guard, but I pertain to the Home Guard, I am not on the patrols – you will have noticed I do not have a warrior name. I knew most of them, but I did not serve with them. I did not share injury, grief and tragedy with them, yet Legolas – so many have fought to join his company and died for it. In the Greenwood there is no greater honour. You will see this during your stay here. Our Lord often has to deny entry to a warrior he deems too green to join them, and is often begrudged for it. Yet he still loses many warriors during the course of one cycle. He remembers every single one of them, every name carved upon the stone bows and swords of the merlons that are not merlons."

"You lead a hard life, my friend," said Elladan flatly then, taking in the stone archers upon the walls, their bows drawn taut, their cold, chiseled faces fierce and loyal.

…

A low whining, followed by a series of clanks and a rattling of chains, told the group that the doors were being opened. Indeed a crack of white light appeared through the middle, as each leaf moved slowly inwards. The ray of light thickened, bathing Legolas, Galdithion, Melven and Elladan and finally the remaining elves in glorious afternoon sunshine, their pupils closing almost shut as they adjusted to the brilliance of it.

The mechanism groaned, whirled and clanked, finally grinding to a halt with a shuddering bang, the only sounds to disturb the utter silence that had fallen around them.

Melven and Elladan shielded their eyes, yet the Sylvans looked ahead in awe, smiling joyously as they took in the sight before them. The entire Greenwood was there, lining both sides of the pathway that led to the doors of the stronghold.

Lords and ladies, children and warriors, scribes and bards, teachers and healers, the entire population of the inner sanctum stood there in silence, their most prized clothes and jewelry lighting up the grounds before a construction that seemed worthy of some fable of the first age. For there, as Elladan's eyes finally adjusted to the light, was a fortress that had been cut from the very mountain itself. Its façade was carved into massive, spiraling roots that jutted high into the air. A multitude of wooden balconies had been built into the numerous floors of living quarters, softening the overall effect of the otherwise imposing construction.

Elladan was completely flabbergasted, for once inside this 'fortress', the upper layers must surely afford the most magnificent views over the forest, and the lake. Yet upon further inspection, he realized that the carved roots only existed to the front, and that the sides sported only windows and balconies - what surprises the back held he could not say. It was truly a bastion, the wood elves' stand against darkness, an open invitation to defy them, a clear statement that they would not be moved.

"Elbereth, Lady of Light," whispered Elladan, as Galdithion placed a soothing hand on his thigh, eliciting a startled intake of breath from lord, who had been immersed in his visual inspection.

Galdithion withdrew it, nudging his horse a little further forward, just behind his lord, the place that corresponded to him while on duty, worried that he had been too explicit, yet not daring to look back lest he be disappointed with what he would see on Elladan's face.

The horses walked slowly down the path, with Legolas at the fore. Galdithion watched as the Greenwood subjects, his friends and family, inspected him, puzzled yet overjoyed at what they saw, for he was changed – his hair was most strange, they thought, his eyes startling and mysterious – he was beauty to behold and it brought a tear to their eyes, for here, was the prodigal son of the Greenwood, and Galdithion heaved a sigh of pride and love.

Legolas wore his simple leather skirt and his leather jerkin, the attire the Noldor now recognized as that of The Company. His arms were covered in vambraces and bands and his bow jutted out from over his shoulder, crossing the mighty Yaavan which curved proudly upwards to the heavens, sparkling and glinting defiantly. He had pulled back his twisted locks to sit high on his crown, Glorfindel's clasp securing it firmly, embracing it lovingly. The rest of his silky hair was left loose to brush against his hips, a luxury he could now afford.

They bowed and curtsied as he passed, to which Legolas smiled and nodded to them all, moved at the homecoming they were receiving. Yet his eyes strayed to the end of the path, where a group of elves stood proudly, especially one tall, blonde Sindarin, whose eyes bored into his own with an intensity few could withstand.

"Elbereth, Lady of Light," said Elladan once more, wrenching a smile from Galdithion.

They finally came to a halt and dismounted before the many steps that led up to the impressive doors leading into the mountain fortress. Upon the highest step, stood the foremost elves of the Greenwood, yet the one in the centre shone with an intensity Melven had only ever seen in Legolas himself.

He was at least as tall as the Forest Lord, and had about him an aura of strength and command that left none indifferent. His hair was the very same shade, kept from his face by an impressive crown of gold, roots and flowers. His face was more rugged, however, lined with the sorrows and cares of time and experience, his eyes a brilliant sky blue. He was strong and beautiful, commanding yet magnanimous. His body was clad in a long blue velvet skirt that trailed the ground to the back, yet was cut up the front to the top of his brown boots. His chest was wrapped in green silk, and an impressive rich brown cape embraced his generous shoulders, falling to the ground in a shimmering cascade of opulence, his sword hung by his side, sheathed in a magnificent, bejeweled scabbard. Thranduil Oropherion, Sindarin King of the Greenwood.

Beside him stood Bandorion, Thranduil's brother, and Barathon, his nephew. To the other side stood Thranduil's sister Caladwen and his niece Alastegiel. Finally, behind the king stood a dark elf that sent a shiver up Elladan's spine.

Legolas walked slowly towards his father, their eyes not once disengaging.

As he drew nearer, the king's eyes shifted to his son's hair, following the thick locks, as they disappeared well past his waist. His eyes shone a brilliant green, not their customary sky blue, so like his own. He was fit beyond his usual standards, and a mighty weapon sat on his muscled back.

This was his son, yet he was changed, physically and mentally -yet he was still, heart-breakingly beautiful to behold, and he loved him above all else, above anyone else.

He smiled then, as Legolas moved before him and knelt, bowing his head and waiting for his father's leave to rise.

"Rise."

And he did, yet no sooner had he reincorporated himself that his father bowed low to him, revealing the crown of his head as protocol dictated when saluting a king. Now, the entire Greenwood followed suit until the king stood once more.

"Welcome home, Lord of the Forests, _King _Legolas."

And there it was, his father had recognized his status with this one, simple gesture. Legolas knew he held back, as he himself did, but the love and pride shone from his father's eyes so that it set his skin tingling and his eyes itching – there was nothing he wanted more now, than to melt into the strong arms and breathe in the reassuring scent of his protector.

Thranduil made a subtle gesture to his side and Legolas immediately joined the group of dignitaries, as Galdithion approached, accompanied by Elladan and Melven.

Galdithion knelt before his king, yet before he could rise, he found himself looking at his sire's black boots.

Standing once more, he found the king's face before him, feeling his hand as it came to rest on his shoulder - heard his deep mellifluous voice as he spoke.

"You have kept him safe, and returned him to me. I expected no less of you, faithful guard, _Captain_ Galdithion."

Galdithion's eyes bulged uncontrollably, for he had not expected to be promoted, in public and with no prior warning, yet delighted he _was_.

The king took his arm then, placing a new armband of gold and mithril over his bicep, marking his new rank. The sovereign smiled then for the first time, as Galdithion bowed once more before catching his king's eyes once more.

"You honor me, my King. I have already offered you and your son my life, and I have nothing more to give, save to renew my vows to you today."

"Brave Captain. Now tell me, who stands here with you?"

"My Lord, may I introduce Lord Elladan Elrondion, and Lieutenant Melven Hadorion, both of the Imladris militia."

Both stepped forward and bowed reverently to the imposing elf before them. The King was, however, momentarily taken back.

"You are of a likeness with your father, Lord Elladan."

"Yes, my Lord. I bring greetings from Lord Elrond Earendilion, your ally, and I relay to you his thanks for your part in making the Spring Festival the great success it has been. My father sincerely hopes that a meeting of state may come to take place between you soon."

"And that is my wish also. I would converse with you later, at dinner perhaps. Meanwhile, be you both most welcome to my realm, young lieutenants – that your stay with us be instructive, useful and pleasurable.

The warriors bowed once more, leaving room for Aradan to step forward with a once more quaking Balentar and an apprehensive Eruanna, who stared as if fascinated at the floor, before looking up into the wise eyes of Thranduil, and falling completely and utterly in love.

Once the introductions had been completed, the king turned his attention to the crowd, and addressed them formally.

"Tonight, we will feast to mark the homecoming of our representatives, who return to us victorious, and to welcome our Noldorin guests. We also celebrate our Prince's ascension, as is the Lady Yavanna's will. Now go, and rejoice, for happy times are upon us."

Yet before Thranduil could invite his son inside, he was surrounded by family and friends, touching him as they kissed him and placed flowers in his strange hair. It was fifteen minutes before he was able to extricate himself, calling over to Melven and Elladan, who stood next to a euphoric Galdithion.

"Galion will show you to your quarters, my friends. I will seek you out before tonight's feast."

"Go, my Lord, we will see each other anon," smiled Elladan, as they were led away by Galion, the Greenwood's famous housemaster.


	4. The Fortress and Beyond

CHAPTER FOUR: The Fortress and Beyond

Legolas walked through the main entrance, leaving behind the hustle and bustle just outside the guarded entrance, the joyous sounds of homecoming as friends and family embraced once more slowly faded and finally ceased as the solid oak doors thudded closed. The warriors stomped to attention as he passed, trying and failing to suppress the faintest hint of a smile on their otherwise stony countenance. He smiled genuinely and nodded at them, although he knew the gesture would not, should not be returned, yet they were his friends, had been since childhood together with Galdithion, Llyn and Henian; they would play warriors and damsels together, get into trouble, skip school to watch the patrols arrive as they giggled in the bushes. So many memories he had shared with these elves and he was so very glad to see them.

His father stood in the shadows, visible only by the light he emitted, and the glint of his eyes and jewels. He emerged as Legolas approached him, silent and intense as he glided towards his son and placed a ringed hand on his shoulder, bidding him follow.

It never ceased to amaze Legolas how much his father could impress him. Every time he came home and saw him once more, he would be struck by his imposing figure, his commanding aura, his virile beauty. He could be dressed in simple leggings and a shirt, and all would hail him as king, there was no mistaking him, for he was a most singular elf, one that left none indifferent.

As they walked down the corridor bound for the king's offices, the house elves bowed as they reached to touch him, staring at his hair. Most had known and served him since he was a babe and wished to stop and talk, he knew; he would have happily obliged, yet there were priorities now, and so he smiled kindly to them but did not stop, for the truth was, he wanted to sit down, rest, be with his father and relax as he could nowhere else in the fortress, except in the loving presence of his only parent.

Arriving at the suite of rooms the king used for his daily duties, Galion appeared before Legolas, bowing to the elf he had seen grow into a warrior, a commander, a king. Legolas smiled at this most enigmatic of house masters, unbuckling his quiver and sword and placing them reverently into his outstretched arms, watching as Galion nodded dutiously, his face sporting a well-concealed expression of surprise at the object that had been encharged to him. Swiveling deftly on his heel, he made his way to his Lord's chambers, not once daring to touch the imposing weapon that sat over his palms.

As the doors thudded closed behind them, Legolas let out a mighty breath as he turned, startling somewhat as he found himself face to face with his father and his open arms – into which he fell eagerly, their faces mirroring each other – for here was an elf that had missed him much, that depended on him, that revered the very earth he walked upon, his only offspring, his sole parent – his son – his father. They held each other, clutched at each other's clothing as if they would disappear should they let go – so necessary was the one for the other – so alike in all things save the offices they possessed.

They broke away then, and Legolas moved his hand to his hair ruefully, picking out the flowers that had been placed there, entwined in the strange, twisted locks that covered the softer, silky mane below. His father helped him, smiling as he extracted the daisies, bluebells and honeysuckle that stuck inside it so well, marveling at how dense and long it was.

The task was fulfilled in silence, until Thranduil stood staring at his son, his eyes moving from one inch of his face to the next, over his hair, his ears, his eyes, until he finally faced him once more.

"You have changed, my son."

Legolas smiled at this father's understatement.

"Yes, I have changed, the Lady Yavanna would say for the better, for this is her doing, Father," he said, gesturing to his hair and eyes, "and then _everything_ has changed, yet where to begin?" he murmured as they both sat on a comfortable sofa before a magnificent, coloured window that glowed from the candle light that lit it up from within.

Thranduil handed his son a glass of wine as he sat back, still unable to wrench his eyes away from this strange, exotic elf – his _son,_ he had to remind himself once more.

"I have heard many wild and wonderful things of what has come to be known as 'The Demonstration', is it true? Did Lady Yavanna reveal herself?"

"It is true, and there is much to tell, Father, for I can scarcely believe it myself. You know the extent of my abilities – I can touch a plant and make it healthier, cure blight or some such thing – but that is not what happened. I created life where there was _none_, and I cannot explain how, only that it happened."

"Would you be able to do it again? At will?"

"I know not, perhaps. Aiwendil suggests that I can, and that he would teach me to harness it. He plans to visit in the not too distant future."

"Good. I have not seen the old man for many years. You will be a _mage_ then?" asked the king with a mocking smile on his handsome face.

"I believe I may already be one," replied Legolas, somewhat flummoxed at the thought and deciding not to continue down that path for the moment.

"And you are _king;_" said Thranduil proudly. "Were there any adverse reactions?" prodded Thranduil, watching his son carefully from over the brim of his goblet.

"Nay, Father. The truth is that there has been no antagonism at all, we are now on extraordinarily good terms with all the Elven realms."

"And the military alliance, it is complete, just as we drew it up?"

"Almost. We had to negotiate a few terms, but the essence of it is highly favourable to us, Father, we will stand alone no longer against the Dark One."

"It seems you are in good favour with the Lords…" said Thranduil, somewhat flatly, which immediately raised Legolas' suspicions.

"I am in very good favour with them, father. Is there anything _specific_ you would like to know?" he asked, sipping his wine and watching his father's schooled features.

"Well you see, it is like this; the Festival was a success, by all accounts, yet there is an undercurrent of sadness about you. You have left someone important behind, have you not?" he asked as he sat on the edge of his seat, anticipating his son's words.

Did Legolas really think he could hide it from his father? Probably, yet now that he thought about it, the notion was absurd. His father was the single most cunning, astute elf he knew; he could read the thoughts of an elf by simple observation, an expert in semiotics, he was almost never wrong.

Smiling, he glanced at his father, who held his gaze, willing him to speak.

"I have struck up a singular _– friendship_ – with the Lords of Imladris," he conceded.

"Who?"

"Elrond, Erestor – and Glorfindel of Gondolin," he said a little more softly, a dead give-away to his expectant father.

Thranduil said nothing, he simply stared, his stunning blue eyes slightly wider than they had been but moments before.

"Glorfindel of Gondolin. He knew your great grandfather, Legaelair."

"I know," he said, wondering if his father would disapprove. He had not anticipated that - had rather thought that Glorfindel would be considered a good match. Yet his training told him to bide his time and limit himself to answering his father's questions.

"And you love him?"

"I do."

"Have you sworn fealty?"

"No, neither of us would be capable of such a thing, Father, you know me."

"Indeed," smiled the king, for his son was more than a little promiscuous, had been since before his majority – but then, who was _he_ to talk?

"Well, he is handsome enough if my memory does not fail me. Have you made – plans?"

"No, the time is not right. I, Father, there is something important you need to know. Something I could not disclose in my letters. It is something only my witnesses know, and it cannot be disclosed, not until the events come to pass."

"You have my complete attention, my son. I have arranged for a private lunch today. I think it best we talk as much as possible now, before alternative explanations obscure the truth, and then – _I have missed you so_," he said, as his eyes misted and his brow furrowed, and Legolas embraced him once more. "I too, missed you, Father - at the most significant moments of my life, I missed you, too."

Legolas had, of course, omitted the fact that there was another whom he missed just as much, but who he would never be able to embrace, at least not here, on Arda, not until his purpose was fulfilled and he was free to leave, if indeed, he ever had the inclination to do so.

….

While Legolas sat with his father, informing him of the highlights of his journey, Elladan was marveling at the suite of rooms he had been provided with.

When they had arrived, he had wondered what the fortress would look like from the back. Indeed there were none of the impressive spires visible at the front, but there were numerous windows with wooden balconies that hung out over the sheerest vertical drop Elladan had ever seen – unfortunately he had found _that _out the hard way.

When he had first approached the doors, he had flung them open impetuously, and promptly swooned, grabbing the carved wooden railings tight as he realized that he was, quite literally, hanging off the side of a mountain. Far below, was a steep hill which blended into an evergreen wood of spruce and pine, fir and cypress. The aroma was fresh and crisp, just like the light breeze that blew about his face. There were numerous lakelets and meres dotted around the forest floor for as far as the eye could see; _this_ forest, he knew, was untouched by the darkness, perhaps the last bastion of the wood elves - no wonder they protected it so fiercely, who wouldn't? - it was a paradise of greens, blues and browns, and every shade between, textures of wood and water, earth and mist, each with its own characteristic aroma that reached his senses and set his head reeling.

Straight ahead of him, he could see a mountain range in the distance – the Lonely Mountain, he thought. The view was quite literally breathtaking, dramatic even. He had never imagined the Greenwood like this, and only now was he beginning to realize that there was much work to be done. He would suggest his father send historians, scribes, and artists - mapmakers and botanists, for this marvel should be proclaimed throughout Elvendom, documented for posterity.

A knock turned his attention indoors once more. Opening the heavy oak leaf, a dark-haired elf stared back at him. It took him a few moments to realize it was Melven who stood there.

"Ai, Lieutenant, forgive me, I – I did not recognize you for a moment – come in, please," he invited, watching as the attractive male walked into his rooms. The change that had come over him was nothing short of striking. He had dressed his hair more informally, leaving most of it to hang about his shoulders, only a few discreet braids adorning the back. Even his face was less taut, less strict, less – disapproving. He seemed happy, enthusiastic, full of life, and it suited him, for he was well-favoured, something Elladan would never have thought back in Imladris.

"My Lord – is it not – _surprising_?" asked Melven, as he looked around him in awe.

It took Elladan a moment to understand he spoke of their quarters, and not his own personal transformation.

"Indeed, I am perplexed that this is not described in our history books in the Valley, it is truly – unbelievable."

Another knock, revealed Galion, who bowed to the visitors, although not before taking in the open balcony and the look of wonder on their faces, his deduction was both quick and correct.

"Good afternoon, my Lords. The King and his son beg your pardon, but matters of state keep them from accompanying you this afternoon. I have been asked to see to your well-being in their absence. I am Galion, House Master," he reintroduced himself in is quaint woodland accent.

"Good afternoon, yes, I remember, Galion."

"Would it please you to allow us to serve you your lunch in your quarters?"

"Of course, we would – take it together if that is suitable, Galion?" asked Elladan, looking at Melven for his consent.

"Of course, my Lords. The feast will begin at the twentieth hour. Protocol will be in place this eve, for your information. I can provide you with water for bathing, tailors should you require fitting, and I will require your full titles in order to hail you in the Great Hall."

"Well, we will accept the water of course, although I do not think we will be requiring anything more. Melven?" At a shake of his head, he smiled once more at the housemaster.

"Do you like the Evergreen Wood, my Lords?" asked Galion softly.

"We were just discussing our impressions, Galion. We are both most pleasantly impressed with your home, this wood was – unexpected, as was the drop from the balcony if I may add! He said somewhat sardonically."

Galion smiled enigmatically at Elladan then. "Indeed, my Lord, more than one elf has been reported to have swooned on first opening the doors – I trust this was not your case?" he asked, and Melven swore he saw a half-smile on the house master's face – he was sure of it.

"Nay, thank Elbereth!" He had lied, and he had the uncomfortable impression that he had not been believed.

"Then I will leave you to the views, my Lords."

After he had left, Melven glanced at Elladan from the corner of his eye, smiling mischievously, "I do not know about you, my Lord, but I _did_ very nearly lose my balance!"

"Yes, well, we don't want Galion to know about that, Melven, we would never hear the end of it if it got back to Legolas."

"Well, my Lord, I really do not think he believed you anyway…"

Elladan gave him a sour look, before smiling and beckoning Melven to sit, for both were eager to talk of their impressions thus far. The place was of a natural beauty that surpassed anything they had seen, dreamed even. They had not quite realized that it would be as mountainous, and it seemed to them that there were two worlds encompassed in this forest realm. The thick woodlands before the fortress, fiercely protected by all accounts, struggling to cleave to the light that still dominated but that was under constant siege, and then the wood that was behind the fortress, the Evergreen Wood Galion had called it, the impollute forest, the impressive heights and open mountain, it was almost as if this stunning panorama were a constant reminder for this warrior society – they could look out of their windows and remember what they fought for, what they died for.

The architecture was also remarkable. The carved spires of the façade were a masterpiece, and both had been left wondering if they were inhabitable, or whether they were purely decorative. They had found false windows everywhere, a novel idea that gave a warmth to the cool rooms by illuminating panels of painted glass with candles that stood behind them. The rooms were carved out of the mountain rock, and the craftsmanship was, they guessed, dwarvish - testimony to the once healthy relations between the two races.

The elves themselves were mostly of brown colouring, with light chestnut being the most frequent hair colour, although Elladan had counted quite a few red heads. They concluded that these would be of either Sylvan or Avarin heritage. The blonde elves were few to count, probably the Sindar, like their sovereign, Thranduil. They were of a happy disposition, very richly dressed and adorned, and sported a delightful lilting accent with a somewhat peculiar set of intonation patterns that had both Noldor bewitched, for at times, they had thought a question was being asked, when in fact the sentence had been affirmative.

Tapestries and carpeting covered almost every inch of floor and wall space, presumably to take away the chill of the stone. It was, indeed, quite cool in the rooms, which should not have been surprising, given the height they were at - not from the front, but over the sheer drop at the back.

There were large fireplaces, all alight, the smoke wafting up into shoots which neither dared to guess where they finally came to rest; and the bathing room was nothing short of opulent. There was no tub, but a carved hole, for want of a better word. A stopper revealed the existence of a shaft of some sort, which would be opened to release the waters – ingenious indeed.

Towels of all shapes and sizes were neatly folded along the edge of the bathing area, rich oils and soaps stood in earthen jars and bowls, perfumes wallowed in decorative glass bottles, cloths for washing were piled beside the towels, there were even robes made of an absorbent material they did not recognize, obviously designed to be worn fresh from the bath. It seemed to them that bathing was an important part of this society, for the detail was impressive, their courtesy stunning.

Their conversation was interrupted as a knock revealed two elves, carrying large trays which they deposited on a table near the hanging balcony. They then proceeded to unload and prepare their contents, carefully setting out the cutlery and polished glasses, opening the wine they had brought and presenting the dishes with an artistic flare that showed the delight they took in their work.

Bowing to the guests, they left quietly, shutting the door behind them.

"Shall we?" asked Elladan as he gestured to Melven to join him.

"Well, who would have thought, my Lord," said Melven as he made himself comfortable.

"Please, call me Elladan, if you will."

"Very well. I mean, who would have thought, not two months past, that we would be sitting at this table together, in a foreign land, on the brink of a fascinating adventure – it seems almost, a fairy tale – "

"Yes, you are right," considered Elladan. "You have synthesized it most efficiently, my friend. I, for one, feel enthusiastic for the first time in many years. I feel that I can finally finish my warrior training somehow. I always had the impression, nay _knew_, that I had not performed to the best of my abilities, and yet as lord of my own homeland, it is my duty to be better than most. I do not mean to boast, but it is expected of me, Melven."

"Aye, I understand, Elladan. We are both lieutenants, yet I know we could be so much more, given the right circumstances."

"Then let us toast to that, Melven, Lieutenant of Imladris, soon to be Captain of the Elven Guard!"

"And to you, Lord Elladan Elrondion, mighty warrior and commander of the Noldor!"

….

Thranduil was speechless. His son had been chosen for a task he had never guessed at. He was to play some pivotal role in restoring the king of men on the throne of Gondor and Anor, thus uniting the free people of Middle Earth. Yet how? For this to come to pass, the Dark Lord must be overthrown, vanquished not temporarily, but forever more. He liked not the notion, for it stank of battle and death, suffering and sacrifice, and he wanted none of those things for his son.

They had remained silent for some time, Legolas starting on his food and giving his father time to digest the information he had just revealed to him.

Yet once the questions started, they did not stop, and they were now sitting before the fire hours later, a glass of mulled wine in their hands.

"Now tell me of you, Father? How have you coped in my absence?"

"Oh, well enough, Legolas. It did me good to get back into the fray, I missed the camaraderie, the sense of being at the fore of our people's protection. I will admit, however, that I am somewhat out of shape – I have become complacent," he remarked, sipping his wine as he regarded his son's form. "_You_, however, are fitter than I have ever seen you. How so?"

"Well, the Lady Yavanna gifted me with a sword, Father…"

"What kind of sword? You are already grand master, that tells me nothing…"

"I was trying to break it slowly to you," he explained, deciding that his best bet was to just come out with it. "You see, this sword was forged by Lord Aulë himself."

"_What_?" he exclaimed, almost spilling his wine as he battled to regain his equilibrium, yet his eyes remained huge and round.

Legolas chuckled then. _This _is what Celeborn and his father had in common, they could be the most imposing of elves, and yet they had a boyish, mischievous streak in them that made them such excellent and endearing company.

"It is – a large sword, Father – better you see it than I try to explain. Suffice it to say it is called 'Yaavan'."

'What a peculiar name for a weapon of death', thought Thranduil. Yet in light of what his son had revealed to him over lunch, he could see some sense in it.

"The fact is, it is so large, and so heavy, that I asked Glorfindel to perform adjustment training."

"Oh…, I see. He is famous for being a slave driver with his pupils!"

Legolas laughed hard then, for that is exactly what he had thought on that first day, yet had never said.

"Indeed, they were some of the longest days of my life, yet the results are, I believe, satisfactory," he said somewhat smugly, to which his father simply snorted.

"You must show me this Yaavan…"

"Of course," he answered, glad he had not talked of the crown just yet.

"Good. Ah, but I have missed you, my boy. With Aradan gone too, I was left with Galion and your aunt, and you know what she can be like, thank the Valar for Lainion and Bercalion."

"Oh aye," chuckled Legolas. He had suffered his aunt's presence during his childhood, but had mostly been sheltered from it by his mother, until she had been taken from him. "And Barathon, has he – progressed?"

"What? Nay! He is as obnoxious and useless as ever he was. Yet what to do with the boy? He is royalty, I cannot send him to work in the stables now, can I? My brother's son, yet I cannot use him, Legolas. His mother spoiled him forever, and your uncle is incapable of restoring him to normalcy, I tell you!"

"Did he try to sway you again, take advantage of my absence?"

"Oh, aye – he has sung his own merits most diligently, telling me of how he has the metal of one of The Company, appealing to my sense of family and honor – he suggested that it was embarrassing that as a warrior, my nephew and the cousin of the commander, he was still not a member of The Company – a captain, even!"

They both chuckled then.

Thranduil looked long and hard at his son, then, as a surge of love and pride washed over him and his eyes moistened once more.

Placing his arm around the strong, muscled shoulders, he pulled his son close, watching as he smiled and rested his head on his father's strong chest, allowing himself this small moment to feel, to open that part of his mind he so deftly hid, lest the monsters escape. They sat there for long moments, together once more, rejoicing in the love they held, the one for the other.


	5. Arcane Land

CHAPTER FIVE: Arcane Land

Elladan and Melven were looking most lordly indeed in their finest. Their boots and daggers shone as they reflected the bright orange light of the many lanterns and torches that lit up the otherwise shadowed corridors. Both were dark-haired, their features unmistakably Noldorin, yet Elladan's hair was pitch black, so black it shone blue. He had placed his mithril circlet around his forehead, letting it sit low, thus keeping his rebellious hair from his strong, noble face. His father would be proud, for too many times had he skipped the protocol of lordship, following his brother's witty and popular rebuffs regarding what he considered 'unnecessary primping.' And he _was_ right, yet Elrohir failed to acknowledge the fact that these symbols of office had an obvious and immediate effect on most, even on oneself, although Elrohir would never admit it. Rulers exploited this natural reaction to state their causes, ensure peace, reassure, or, in some unfortunate cases, impose their unilateral will. Sometimes, being intellectual required understanding the natural reactions of elves, before reasoning comes to the fore.

Melven had also outdone himself, and Elladan marveled once more on his transformation since his foray at Love Lake. His wavy hair shone beautifully, held back only by two discreet braids, bound at the ends by a set of mithril beads his father Hador had gifted him with many years ago, but which he had never felt comfortable wearing. Now, however, they seemed to fit perfectly with this new Melven, and truth be told, the Noldorin warrior had liked his reflection in the mirror that evening, for the first time in many years.

As they rounded the corner, they met a large group of elves, conversing animatedly before a set of mighty oak doors, their numbers extending well down the opposite corridor. The solid wooden entrance was closed and guarded by two imposing Home Guards, their livery immaculate, their faces – a wall of beauteous stone.

Conversation muted somewhat as they appeared, for their appearance was exotic to the Greenwood natives. The severity of their attire, the sheer mass of cloth that covered their bodies they found both strange and alluring. It was Aradan that approached them and drew them into the crowd, greeting them kindly as he reintroduced his cousin Calanon, who was now holding Eruanna's outstretched hand with the utmost protocol. Elladan raised an eyebrow as he watched the incipient relationship begin to emerge, for it was not only Calanon who flaunted his companion - Eruanna, in all her innocence and inexperience, was a lovely shade of pink, obviously enjoying the attention that was being lavished upon her by the chief councillor's cousin.

Aradan had explained that Calanon was a botanist, a conservationist charged with the health and reproduction of the forest – a most honorable and noteworthy profession here, especially amongst the Sylvan and Avari. Nevertheless, Elladan would keep abreast of their relationship, for he would brook no poor behavior towards his charge, and neither would Legolas, he wagered.

Balentar was also amongst the waiting crowd, now looking slightly less hunched in his long, formal tunic. He was conversing politely with a tall, pale elf with blonde hair, who gesticulated as he spoke of some topic they both obviously found fascinating.

After a few more minutes of light-hearted banter, it was finally time for Elladan and Melven to step inside, which they did, only to find themselves standing in a place so alien, yet beautiful – it was a sudden, inexplicable truth, for they had not the time to stand and marvel at why they had thought that, for protocol impelled them towards one end of the massive hall. Elladan tried to keep his eyes on the elves he would greet and thank, yet he was conscious of what he passed by, at least to an extent. He knew that this room was enormous, he sensed the colour and glow of candles and lanterns, the smell of incense, the presence of plants and cones, berries – from the corner of his eye, he realized that to his left, the wall there was not of stone, but of wood. What lay behind he could not say, perhaps a balcony of some sorts, yet he dared not look to feed his mind with the information it craved, for he would lose his focus and gawp like a stupefied adolescent. And so once more, he set his eyes on the sight before him, for that too, was worthy of awe.

How striking this Sindarin king was, he thought then. So like his own father - the same air of strength, knowledge and experience hung about him, yet they were, physically very different, except for the lines that denoted the long years of life and all that it had to offer; love, joy, grief and loss, knowledge, empathy, passion… This elf was blond and bold, strong and tall, his clothing – daring, sensuous.

He stood proudly in a long, moss-green velvet skirt, bare, booted legs and a mantle around his shoulders was all that barred Elladan's sight to the otherwise bare chest of this beautiful monarch. He was adorned most intricately in gold and mithril, his crown, earrings, nipple piercing, the gemmed rings on his hands, the glorious dagger from Beleriand tucked into the waistband of his skirt. If anyone had ever wondered where Legolas had obtained his own stunning features, they would now ask no more, for they were very much alike, except that Legolas was more heavily built, his muscles more defined, his face however was the opposite, for it did not yet reflect the passing of long centuries, for his skin was smooth and pale, and yet there was a pinch around the eyes that Elladan could but guess at the cause of.

Elladan took the lead, primarily for Melven's benefit, and bowed low to the monarch.

"My Lord King. I am honoured to be invited into your home and to tonight's celebration."

Smiling placidly, he nodded, bowing slightly as Elladan's station required.

"You are most welcome, Prince of Imladris."

Melven then stepped up to greet the king, as Elladan moved to bow low before the other king. Legolas allowed the formality, but immediately afterwards, took his forearms, clapping them briskly.

"I apologize for not being with you earlier, and as things are, it will be at least midday tomorrow before I can get away."

"I understand, do not fret, my friend. We are being more than well-attended to. Galion is most efficient."

"Ah, Galion is… well, Galion!" he chuckled. Elladan observed that some of the tightness of his friend's face had relaxed somewhat, yet the underlying melancholy had not disappeared. He wondered then, how much of that sadness was for the Lord of Imladris? Or was it all for Glorfindel? He really did not understand the relationship the four of them had struck up – yes he knew that Glorfindel was his primary lover, yet his father did not take lovers lightly, and nor did Erestor. It was not that he disapproved, for how could he? This elf was the single most sensuous being he had ever met; he just hoped that he would not hurt his father, for of that he had had his fill.

As the other guests stepped up to meet the royal family, Elladan allowed himself to finally take in his surroundings. The hall seemed impossibly large, and the stunning architecture took Elladan's breath away once more. He noticed a carved, second floor balcony, where tables also stood, lit up with their respective candles and lanterns. Everything followed the general aesthetics of the fortress, with its clothed walls and candles in every possible nook and cranny. There was finery everywhere, and the tables had been beautifully decorated with woodland fruits and plants, dried flowers, even miniature trees that had him fascinated.

Yet what really drew Elladan's attention, was that one entire side of the room was made of wooden panelling, while the rest of the room was stone. This must be another balcony that led outside, he realized then, yet the size of it was more than surprising. Glancing at Melven, he found his friend staring likewise, his mind furiously making conjectures, for there were no adornments here, no tapestries, no flags, wall torches or painted windows.

However, their overt admiration of their surroundings came to a sudden halt as Thranduil strode into the centre of the hall, his very presence demanding silence as all conversation abruptly died, the guests expectant, silence except for the brief swish of velvet upon leather as his skirts settled around him.

"My Lords, Ladies, honoured guests. Tonight, we celebrate the victorious return of our representatives at the Spring Festival in Imladris, a Festival that has brought to the Greenwood so very many agreements and treaties – Our success has been more than satisfactory. We have earned the military alliance of Imladris and Lorien, we have achieved commercial agreements that will benefit us greatly – so many things I would tell you about, yet all in good time. Now, however, we celebrate that success, we celebrate the return of our Crown Prince, now Lord of the Forests, _King _by the dictates of the Lady Yavanna. We also celebrate the coming of our Noldorin guests, who have come to live amongst us for the next year, to learn and share knowledge in mutual benefit and brotherhood.

To you, people of Elrond, the Sylvans, the Avari and the Sindarin now unveil the Greenwood proper – the Evergreen Wood. You will discover that this land is one of contrasts. You have seen some of the forests before the fortress, fighting for life, fiercely protected by our brave warriors, and now, you will also see why we continue to fight, for in this, _arcane land,_ there is one jewel we cherish above all others…"

As his voice died, a chorus of voices began to strike a single note in different registers, the crescendo growing as the wooden shutters were slowly rolled back upon a system of oiled wheels. As they opened wider and the voices hit their highest volume, Elladan could not avoid the gasp that escaped him, and he was relieved to hear he had not been the only one. For there, revealed in all its absolute, incomprehensible splendor was the Evergreen Wood.

In the now silent hall, the echo of their song still ricocheting off the stone walls, the natives simply stared ahead, the shine of peace and adoration upon their faces, yet both Elladan and Melven had moved forward, slowly, hesitantly, their heads leading the rest of their bodies until they were fully before the platform, for that was what it was, not a balcony, but a mass of flattened rock that formed a semi-circle, guarded around the edges by railings and shrubbery.

It was the same forest of evergreen trees that had taken them so when first they had opened their balcony doors in their rooms, yet this – this panorama was nothing short of breathtaking, for the forest stretched out before and around them, the platform thrusting the observer into the very heart of the forest, giving the impression that one simply hovered over it, rather than standing on solid rock. From their quarters, the forest was somehow distant, yet here, the forest was right there, a fingertip away, embracing the edges of the platform, almost, yet not quite caressing it.

Melven's eyes were full of tears, not of sadness, but of the sheer sensation of grandeur he was infused with. This was magical, a parcel of Elvendom he had never experienced, and he was stunned that this was so, for this marvel of nature was totally unknown to his kin in Imladris – it seemed impossible somehow, that this - wonder - _could _be unheard of – _anywhere,_ and yet it was – what a strange, magical and mysterious land this was.

…

Sometime later, Elladan and Melven were engaged in lively discussion with Barathon and Alastegiel, known to her family and friends as Alaste - Legolas' cousins, as Thranduil and his son listened. Alaste was a lively soul, young and playful, yet woefully ignorant of the ways of the outside world, the total opposite of her mother, Caladwen. She wanted to travel to Imladris, Lorien, Mithlond, 'everywhere,' as she put it, and so Melven and Elladan indulged the royal princess in tales of their home, and of the places they had visited. Needless to say they had made a friend, and acquired an admirer.

Barathon, however, was a totally different character. He was also young, yet certainly not playful, at least not in an entertaining way. He seemed to take every possible opportunity to compare, either his homeland with Imladris, or his skill as opposed to others. Melven thought then, that he himself had been just so, not so long ago – yet it seemed to him that he, at least, had the excuse of age and its foremost danger of monotony and routine. One quick glance at the king, told Melven that he held a certain, _distaste,_ for the ways of his nephew, for he wore a grimace akin to that which is provoked by sucking on a lemon. However, protocol would not allow him to follow his own wishes and send the braggart to Dol Guldûr, and so he plastered a smile onto his face, which by now had Legolas smirking, finally taking pity on his two friends.

"Elladan, Melven, join us?" he asked rhetorically as he rose together with Galdithion, who had been granted leave for the evening. Leading them out onto the spectacular overhang, Legolas looked over his shoulder, noticing the hesitant gait, especially from Melven, who seemed to grow shorter, the nearer he got to the breakers.

"Come closer," he called back to them as he approached the edge.

They followed the two friends timidly, for there would surely be a fatal drop on the other side - one cup too many or a dizzy spell, an over-zealous dance partner perhaps, and you could find yourself flying free and losing your life even before hitting the tops of the trees. Melven shuddered visibly at the thought.

The 'prince' chuckled, as he and Galdithion accommodated themselves upon a bench which looked out over the entire expanse of the forest. They were finally joined by the two Noldo, who sat gingerly on either side of them, yet Melven clung to the bottom of the bench somewhat anxiously. He promised himself he would let go, in a minute…

"Well? What do you think?" asked Legolas.

"I tell you, my friend," began Elladan, grappling for the words that would adequately describe his feelings, "I am simply in awe of your home, Legolas. But what really takes me back, is that this is _unknown_, 'tis not documented, nobody speaks of this – the Evergreen Wood, you call it – how is that possible?" he finished, frowning fiercely as we awaited a reply to the question that had had him perplexed all evening.

"You know," began Legolas hesitantly, obviously experiencing the same dilemma about how to explain something so complex, "we have been in isolation for so long, my friends. It has been almost two thousand, five hundred years – just two years after my own birth, when last Elrond was here – that is when we first met," he smirked before continuing. "This forest was young, indeed it was mostly barren foothills, with only a few saplings dotted here and there. The view has always been spectacular over the Lonely Mountain, but nothing comparable to what we have achieved here, in the last two thousand years."

"But how, Legolas?" asked Melven, "how has it been achieved?"

"We were starting to lose the southernmost parts of the forest, enemy activity began to grow as we were forced further north, here, where we have made our stand. Yet we wanted – nay, needed, to restore what we once had to the south of the forest, for many years ago, that forest was just as splendid as this one. It is still beautiful in some parts, but no longer comparable."

"And what, exactly, did you do?" insisted Elladan. "I mean, there, for instance, further north, are the dwarves – you have Laketown to the east of you – men. How have you been able to isolate it – keep it safe?"

"They do not come here. The dwarves rarely leave their mountain, except to hunt, but they do not venture here, for they believe it haunted, something we have fomented, I must admit. It is the same for men, only because we are on friendly trading terms with them, we do not foment superstition. We simply tell them it is our _garden_, off-bounds to any and all, and they have respected that."

It was Galdithion who continued then.

"The king gave unto the Sylvans and Avari a boon, in exchange for their alliance to the Sindarin king. We call this moment in our history 'The Great Unification', for our three nations came together as one. In return, our sire gifted unto the wood dwellers a forest, a forest to create and nurture – with the condition that it be shared by all."

"However," continued Legolas, "strict rules were placed on the land. There would be no commercial activity – no agriculture, no felling, no hunting – nothing. Any excursion into the Evergreen Wood must be formally notified to the Home Guard, who would have the authority to grant or decline such visits, should the nature of them be unclear. And so, after more than two thousand years – this is the result of their efforts. This is why they will not sail – unless pain and despair take them, they will not leave this marvel they have created. I will show it to you – when time permits."

There was silence for a while as Legolas and Galdithion's words registered in their minds, as they imagined the task that was set to the natives of this land. To others, it would seem more a punishment, yet to them, to be gifted with creating a forest, was a shrewd political maneuver indeed, thought Elladan. One that had worked so well, for he had perceived no racism in this, three-fold culture, indeed their prodigal son was a half-cast, and he wondered then if Thranduil had done that purposefully.

"Legolas, as you rightly say, you have been isolated for many years, yet now that there is no reason to conceal the woods any longer, I would inform my father of this. I would have him send out a party to that purpose. Would that be acceptable?"

"A party?" asked Legolas, intrigued with Elladan's proposal.

"Legolas, this cannot be left undocumented. I would have him send a historian, an artist, a naturalist, a mapmaker – this at least. We must perpetuate this marvel of nature, my friend, what say you?"

Legolas sat, pondering on his friend's words. He was right, but he would have to speak to his father.

"You know, technically speaking, I would outrank my father on this point, yet I do not wish to. I will speak to him, however, for you are right. Yet we must ponder the idea a little more before acceding to it."

Legolas smiled then, as he watched the two Noldor gaze out over the Evergreen Wood, Melven no longer clinging to the bench for dear life.

"You are both generous and wise, Elrondion, as your father is. I am honoured to call you friend" he said as he continued to look into his lover's son's eyes.

Elladan turned to him then, surprised by the heart-felt confession of this princely king.

"Nay, but the honour is mine. I would have this land revered by all, for it is beauty untold, Legolas, as are _you_."

And he meant it. He did not covet this elf, for the same reason that Legolas did not covet his sister, yet he _was_ beautiful, and his father was so very lucky.

The comfortable silence stretched out, until finally, Galdithion broke the solemn moment, which just happened to coincide with a merry fiddle tune that had the wood elves whooping and cheering inside.

"Now, Elladan, enough on the history of the Greenwood, for your cultural instruction begins, and this dance you must learn – with me!" shouted Galdithion, as he took both his friend's hands, and pulled him into the hall, where by now, the entire Greenwood was reeling around the room, shouting out their glee as they were hurled around and around, hair of every conceivable colour flying this way and that – even the elvenking was there, in the midst of it all with a lovely brunette, his long velvet mantle swishing around him.

Elladan and Galdithion were lost in the fray then, and Legolas and Melven had but a moment to look at each other, before they too were pulled into the merrymaking, a long, drawn out shout for help escaping Melven, before he was lost in a sea of laughter.

…

Elladan was exhausted, yet these wood elves looked for all the life of them as if the party had only just begun, their drums and percussion beating out tune after tune, to which they danced and flirted most seductively.

He spotted Barathon with a group of young warriors. They drank as they talked and laughed, yet Barathon had spotted Legolas as he swirled around the room with a lovely female. His gaze was at first somewhat unguarded, and Elladan though he looked sad then, before his features hardened and he smirked, before taking a generous swig of wine and turning back to his circle of friends.

Elladan sighed; he was on his second elderberry liqueur which he had discovered this evening, and was now, thoroughly hooked. Melven was still there, switching partners every dance. He had learned the basic movements quickly, and was now jigging and stomping his feet like a native, thought Elladan fondly.

His eyes strayed to the side then, for he felt the weight of the elven king's gaze on him.

Yet before the situation could become embarrassing, Thranduil spoke.

"You are pensive, Elrondion," he said thoughtfully, now staring at the bottom of his cup.

"Yes, and exhausted! Yet you are right, for there have been many things for me to reflect upon, my Lord. Many sights, many new issues to think upon."

"Melven seems to be quite the success. He seems at home, almost," said the king in a somewhat far-away tone."

"Yes. He has changed beyond recognition, my Lord," he said, as he smiled once more. "This elf was stern and judgmental, yet he was already beginning to change after meeting Legolas, and then dramatically so on his way here. The transformation is stunning."

"What was the catalyst?"

"Well…eh, we were introduced to a certain place, not a day's ride from the fortress…"

"Oh, no! You mean to tell me it was Love Lake!" and with that, the venerable, awe-inspiring king of Sindar, Sylvan and Avari alike, burst into guffaws of uncontrollable laughter, reminding him fondly of his grandfather – this elf's cousin, he reminded himself.

Elladan smiled widely then. For Thranduil had seemed somewhat stern, yet now, he had shown a side that until now, had been hidden from any and all. This was the elf, the father, the companion, and Elladan decided that he liked him, he liked him very much.

"And what of you, Lord Elladan. Why have you come on the exchange programme? What do you hope to learn from us?"

"I wish to be a better warrior, that I may, someday, help to command the troops of my homeland, perhaps even in the joint Elven army that is still but a project. I could think of no better tutor than your son, my Lord."

"What of Glorfindel? Surely he would teach you well," said Thranduil, intrigued at the reasons why this son of Elrond would come here.

"'Tis somewhat convoluted, my Lord. Glorfindel is, indeed the best warrior I have ever met, with the exception of Lord Legolas. It is more a question of where, rather than which of the two greatest warriors in Elvendom, my Lord. I need to come into myself alone, without my twin…" he trailed off then, wondering if he had said enough for Thranduil to understand him.

"Yes – your brother is not, then, inclined to the ways of the warrior?"

"He can hold his own, yet you are right, my Lord, I could advance no more in my home environment."

"You will learn a lot, of that I am sure, you will learn the true nature of _darkness_, young prince."

Elladan looked at him oddly, wondering at his words, storing them away for future consideration, for Legolas unwittingly interrupted the conversation, as he walked briskly to the table where Thranduil and Elladan sat in apparently amiable conversation.

He was vibrant, his hair in slight disarray as he plopped himself upon his seat next to his father, taking a gulp from his glass before depositing it noisily upon the wooden table.

"Ah, there is nothing like a Sylvan reel to get the blood up, is that not so, Father?" he said slyly.

"Oh, indeed. And what else is 'up' with you, my son?"

"Well, I could not say, for it would not be proper!"

"And what would your Gondolidrim lover think of that?" said the king light-heartedly.

Yet Legolas had sobered immediately at the mention of the one he adored, and Thranduil immediately regretted his words. Elladan, however, astute as he was, interrupted with his own answer.

"He would join the fray, my Lord," he said, as blithely as he could manage. And it worked, for both father and son laughed heartily, for it was true - he would indeed, join the fray.

And Thranduil was left with the sensation of having met an extraordinary elf – young, yet wise, empathic beyond his experience – and handsome, very, very, handsome.

…..

Legolas accompanied his friends back to their rooms, before bidding them a fond goodnight, and strolling to his own suite of rooms on the next and last floor up.

It had been prepared for him. Candles shone warmly, the hearth was alight, and a bottle of wine stood on the low table before it. Legolas smiled then, for he knew that Galdithion was standing outside on the balcony, looking out over his forest home that he had missed so much, for Galdithion was Sylvan, and he carried the Evergreen Wood in his heart.

Walking into his bathing chamber, Legolas stripped and donned his loose linen trousers, which sat low under his trim waist. Picking up his comb, he pulled it through his now naked hair as he walked back into the living room and sat before the fire, finding Galdithion already comfortable in an armchair.

"So, what do you think? Will they survive for a year here, in the Greenwood?" asked Galdithion, somewhat solemnly.

"I do not know, Gal. I can see their good intentions. Both have their minds open to new experiences and ideas, Elladan especially, though, yet I must admit that Melven is impressing me with every new turn – we may make a fine warrior of him yet." He said, as he poured them each a glass of wine.

"And you, Gal - what of you, and Elladan?" he asked, without looking at his friend, for it was the first they had talked on the subject. Galdithion had not even confided in Legolas, yet it was plain to see that the attraction was mutual.

"Am I that transparent, then?" he asked, again somewhat flatly, as if he was no longer in the room with this best friend.

"Not transparent, no, yet to me it seems that way. You are attracted to him, yet you hesitate, you do not make your attraction clear enough to him. Perhaps because you doubt?"

"Perhaps. Yet how could I not? I am not of his station, Legolas, and before you say it doesn't matter, it _does_ – not to me, but to his people. Like you, his life is not his own, and Imladris will not want to see him cavorting with a lowly captain."

Legolas sighed deeply, considering his friends words before offering an answer. He was right, of course. Elladan's life was, at least to an extent, one of service to his people, their opinion mattered, be they right or wrong, fair or unfair – this is the basis of fair politics. But there was more to be considered here, and he shared what he knew with his perplexed friend.

"You know, you are right – to an extent, Gal, yet consider this," he said, as he sipped at his wine. "Elrond is primarily concerned with the choice his children need to make before he himself sails. 'Tis the blessing, or the curse, of the Peredhil. Elrond is tormented with one or all of his children cleaving to mortality, and this terrifies him. Should you become a formal suitor to Elladan, I know that Elrond would not only be overjoyed at the prospect of keeping his son with him for eternity, but that he would find a way to make it plausible."

"But what of his duties? He is the elder son, the heir!"

"But he is not the future leader of Imladris, Galdithion, I do not think this is true. It is Elrohir who will come into that role, he is better suited to it, will enjoy it even. Elladan is a warrior at heart – his metal we will soon test, but he is no politician, my friend, and his father knows him well."

"Aye," said the captain, visibly considering this new slant to his predicament. "Perhaps tomorrow I will make my intentions a little more obvious, in private however. If he is to reject me, I would keep my pride intact."

"Hum, yes. Yet I think Elladan is attracted to you too, my friend, yet neither does he make that obvious – perhaps you are both overly concerned with the reactions of others?"

"Yes, perhaps. Now drink up! 'Tis time for bed. Your father will be interrogating you again tomorrow, and I know you are tired – nay, that was not a question, my 'Prince'."

"Yes, you are right, my dear friend."

They both stood then, as Legolas saw his guard to the door, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

"Good luck for tomorrow, then."

Galdithion simply smiled, glad he had confided in his friend. He felt better, as a sparkle of hope had been kindled in his awakening heart. As he sauntered down the corridor and stairs, he began to think of his strategy for tomorrow, passing a most sensuous looking female, who walked with a purpose towards the upper floors of the fortress.

Legolas walked to his bed, turned down the sheet and lay down. As long as he had known Gal, he had only ever seen him dally for but a few days with this or that elf, there had never been any kind of serious relationship. Legolas wondered then, at the depth of Galdithion's feelings for his lover's son, however, he could ponder no further, as a knock at his door revealed Minuialwen, dressed most enticingly. She floated over to the bed and held out the earthen jar she held in both hands, watching her prince until he sat himself up and took the jar from her. She stepped back then, loosening her thin shift and letting it slide over her smooth skin until it pooled at her feet, watching her lover's face as that characteristic, feral glint came to his eyes, and that never failed to prepare her most efficiently.

A few moments later, and he was atop her, parting her thighs and entering her. She was wet and it felt so good, as he took her generous breasts in his hands and kneeded them, burying his face in them as he took both comfort and pleasure from what she gave so freely.

"Welcome home, my Lord," she gasped as she began to climax.

A throaty gasp was all the answer she received, as she was flooded with his royal seed.

…

One floor below, Elladan lay awake upon his bed, the balcony doors wide open as the fire crackled and sizzled in the hearth. He thought then that it was akin to sleeping upon a mountain, under the stars, yet with all the comforts a palace had to offer. He was comfortable, relaxed, and hopeful. He knew that his life had taken an important turn, for if he were to accomplish great things, they would start now, with his extended warrior training – and who knew, perhaps he would explore his nascent feelings for Galdithion. He remembered that lovely smile he had directed his way in Imladris, that last day they all sat together, yet since then, there had been no further clear indication of his intentions.

His mind then sat to contemplating what he had left behind, his twin, his father, Erestor and Glorfindel, Cormion, Arwen. He would write soon, tomorrow, perhaps, before his transformation began. He would tell them of his progress so far, of the unexpected marvels he had seen, and especially, he would tell them of the two forests, one dark, one light – two poles that came together to create a land that was beginning to take root in his heart. It fascinated him – this beautiful, strange, arcane land.


	6. Symbols of Destiny

Author's note: The first part of this chapter has been censored in compliance with ffnet's policies. You can read the full version on lotrfanfiction dot com

CHATER SIX: Symbols of Destiny

Emerging from the bathing room, wrapped in a soft towel, he sauntered into the bed chamber, only to find the room now empty, a piece of parchment upon the rumpled sheets. Picking it up, he read it, and smiled.

"_Welcome home_."

Throwing open his wardrobe doors, he chose a formal, calf-length tunic of sky blue, black breeches and equally black, knee-length boots. Into his green sash, he placed his ceremonial dagger, and carefully arranged his hair around the crown his father had gifted him with - it was time for breakfast, and he was hungry.

…

The breakfast room was full, for the noise was much louder than was customary. As he stepped over the threashold however, it died, replaced by the scraping of chairs as all rose for the Forest Lord.

Nodding his head to all, he smiled as he made his way straight to the table that had been designated to the Noldor, who were already there.

"A good morning to you, my friends. I trust you slept well?" he enquired, not sure if they would have procured themselves with a little company, as was customary after a Greenwood feast. Yet he didn't think they had, for they looked at him rather innocently, no saucy smiles, nothing to suggest a night of passion, he thought. 'Ah, well, that would soon change, of that he was sure.'

"May I?" he asked, gesturing to a chair at their table.

"Of course, Lord Legolas. Join us, and help us if you will."

"Of course, what is it, Lord Elladan" he invited, as a plate was placed before him.

"Well, this table – are we to sit here always? And why is it so big?" he asked.

"Ah, so, for lesson number one. Each family or living group is designated a table. They may invite whoever they wish to it, and equally be invited to other tables. It is an honour to be given a larger one, for it is taken for granted that you will have and extend many invitations."

"I see, I rather like the idea, I must say. It takes away the awkwardness of knowing where to sit," said Melven, as he helped himself to the eggs and toast.

"And this – granulated substance, what is this, my Lord?" asked Balentar, sticking his spoon into the multi-coloured powder.

"That, Healer Balentar, is pollen. We use it liberally, sprinkle it over anything - it will give a peculiar yet characteristic woodland taste - plus, it is very good for the health, it lends vigor and strength."

"Ah, then I must document this," he said, intrigued at the possibilities.

As they ate heartily, Galdithion arrived, looking frankly splendid, thought Legolas, for he wore civilian attire today, instead of his customary Home Guard livery. Elladan looked up to greet his friend, and then looked again, for Galdithion looked striking, he thought, letting his eyes linger a little longer than what propriety dictated.

Legolas smiled into his breakfast plate, as Melven looked fascinated with the ceiling. Balentar, however, was still sifting through the pollen, noting the different coloured balls that it contained.

However, the smile suddenly disappeared from Legolas' face as a warning came into his mind. He placed his fork on his half-finished plate and stared into nothing, his eyes lighting up from within and setting off that all-too-familiar green mist that collected around his eyes when he was communicating with nature.

It was Galdithion who raised his hand for silence at the table, which was immediately obeyed as each diner began to realize what was happening, Balentar especially, was fascinated by the change in the commander's stunning green eyes.

After a few moments, Legolas blinked and slowly turned to face his guard.

"The Western Detachment have suffered an ambush, there are two gravely wounded, they are making their way back to us and will arrive in two or three hours. Find Dima, arrange for an escort of three with a healer to meet them along the way – just in case."

"Yes, my Lord," said Galdithion firmly as he rose, pointed at two field warriors and then making his way to the barracks in search of Dima.

Legolas simply smiled somewhat sadly, for there was no telling how seriously they were injured. He would just have to sit and wait for more news, and so breakfast ran its course, albeit somewhat less jovially, until the king rose, followed by the other occupants of the table.

"I must leave you for now. I will collect you later for dinner, around the twentieth hour. I bid you a good morning." And with that, he was gone, leaving the others in silent wonder at the green magic they had all just witnessed.

…

Legolas knocked briskly on the doors that led to the king's inner sanctum. The door was opened, revealing Lainion, his father's friend and guard. He was a stern yet rather exotic looking elf – his features were somewhat singular, chiseled and hawk-like, his skin a golden brown from life in the outdoors – his face weathered, his jaw strong and commanding. Lainion was dangerous, he knew, for he had taken instruction with him in hand-to-hand combat many years ago. Yet more than this, Lainion was a dear friend to his father, and something of an elder brother to Legolas, who had adored this elf since he was but a small child.

Lainion smiled spartanly as he clasped Legolas' forearms, before drawing him into a fierce hug, which Legolas returned with equal fervor. He had indeed missed the presence of this quiet, commanding, wise warrior.

"Your father awaits, Legolas. Has something happened?" he asked tentatively, for his brother's eyes were a misty green, a colour he had recognized since Legolas had been but a child. "Is there anything you need?"

"Yes, and yes Lainion. An incoming detachment carry two wounded. They will take some time to arrive, however. I also need to bring down a chest from my rooms. It is unmistakable, for the carvings on it are as nothing to be seen here in the Greenwood. It is heavy, and contains items that are of extreme worth. Can you arrange for it to be transported here? For the king is anxious to inspect its contents."

"You have me intrigued, Legolas. I will do as you ask."

With a simple clap on the shoulder, they parted, Lainion in search of help, and Legolas of his father, who sat at his desk before a tray of fresh juice and sugared chestnuts.

"Ah, my boy, come," he gestured as he stood to greet his child, he too, noticing his son's eyes. It had terrified him, that first time it had happened so many years ago. He had ran to the healers with his unwitting son in his arms. It had been Maeron to tell the monarch that there was, apparently, nothing wrong with the child.

Embracing, they moved to the hearth and sat comfortably side by side. "What has happened?"

"A detachment, carrying wounded. I will be interrupted in a few hours time, but until then, I am at your complete disposal."

Thranduil accepted the succinct report for what it was – Legolas had told him all there was to tell, and so further questioning would, he knew, be pointless.

"So, how was your first night back home?"

"Good, exhausting - I have missed many things, many people, the Evergreen Wood…"

"And are you well, Legolas? And do not pull that mask over your face, my son, show me your feelings, if you will."

Legolas averted his gaze, before turning back to his father, holding his stare with defiance and pride.

The king's eyes widened at what he saw then, for anguish and suffering marred his son's beauty, only for an instant, however - Legolas would not subject his father to any more than was necessary for him to understand, and to comply with his veiled order.

"You love him that much?"

Legolas considered before answering his father's rhetorical question.

"I do, yet it is not only Glorfindel's absence that has me melancholy, father. This anguish, this … anxiety you see is ever-present, yet in the Greenwood we learn to temper it, as you know. The drawback to allowing oneself a brief interlude of light-heartedness, is that it brings the suffering to the fore once more upon returning. I must 're-acclimatize' myself to what I must do, inoculate myself as it were – you must not concern yourself, Father."

"How can I not, my son? For you are the single most important person in my life." He sighed heavily then, "would that a day may come, when I can watch you frolic in joy, free from this pain and grief."

"And that day will come, yet not without sacrifice, Father."

Thranduil simply smiled, for no words could express the sadness that came with protecting their lands, the price his warriors paid to protect the Evergreen Wood, a deed for which they were revered, and so rightly, and so he simply pulled his son close to his side, and encircled him in one, powerful arm, smiling contentedly as he felt his son relax into the crook of his arm.

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Lainion with Yavanna's chest, helped by a panting Galion. They placed it before the hearth, before stepping back and bowing to the two lords, who had not bothered to right themselves, for they were too comfortable where they were.

However, as Thranduil's eyes came to rest on the chest, he sat up straight, cocking his head to the side as he tried and failed to place the artistry.

"What – what is _this,_ my son?" asked Thranduil, as he stood and began to move around the chest with his gaze riveted on the carvings along the sides.

"Whatever it is, it is heavy, my Lords, as Elbereth is my witness!" exclaimed Galion.

"Thank you, Galion," said Thranduil, effectively dismissing his loyal housemaster. "Will you join us, Lainion? For Legolas has some _trinkets_ I would have him show us."

"Oh, well then, of course, I would not miss this, my friend," said Lainion, somewhat sarcastically, as was his wont, yet also spurred on by his friend's use of the word '_trinket,_' for if the chest were anything to go by, there were no _trinkets_ inside it.

Legolas walked over to where the artifact sat, sinking down to his knees as he began his tale, a tale that would have his father and his 'brother' intrigued and thoroughly entertained until well into the afternoon.

"It all began in the Lady Celebrian's gardens…"

…..

Their first call had been the gates that protected the fortress. Galdithion had first shown them the mechanism, before climbing onto the crenellations to better appreciate the merlons, carved into the likeness of those that had died in the service of their nation. All three had been deeply touched by the workmanship that had gone into them, the extent of detail that could be seen in the expressions on their faces, their clothing, their armbands, even the rings they wore. Elladan had spotted at least five that sported Company armbands – five of those that had gone before, and that were not forgotten.

From the gates, they walked the same path they had done just the day before, when it had been crowded with elves that had obscured the details to the sides of the fortress. Just inside the gates, was a long, two storey building – the healing halls. It was surrounded by its own extensive gardens, where convalescing elves could be seen sitting in comfortable chairs, accompanied by friends and relatives who pampered and spoilt them.

"Would you like to visit the halls, my friends?" asked Galdithion.

"I would be delighted," answered Elladan, and of course Balentar was hopping from one foot to another, for here is where he would spend most of his time for the next year. Melven simply resigned himself, for he had an innate dislike of healing wings as most warriors did, yet outnumbered as he was, he walked inside together with his companions, listening as Galdithion continued his explanations.

"They were built here, just inside the gates, to afford safety and not oblige the wounded to undergo long, jostling walks into the fortress. There is another healing sector inside the fortress, which is mostly used for the royal family and other dignitaries."

Balentar immediately spotted Antien, now the Greenwood's head healer in Maeron's absence, sitting at a table towards the end of one, long corridor of beds. Antien rose as the group approached, smiling kindly and nodding to his Noldorin colleague, Balentar.

"A good morning to you my Lords, Balentar," he smiled. "Have you come to visit my humble abode?"

"Just so, Antien. You have already met Balentar of Imladris of course, and this, is Lord Elladan Elrondion, also a healer, as you may know."

"Indeed, it is an honour to meet the son of the Master Healer, my Lord. I hope to speak with you long on the subject that concerns us both."

"Aye, let us hope as a healer and not a patient, for he is to join The Company in due time, Antien," said Galdithion.

Antien's face dropped visibly as he paled slightly, before checking himself.

"Aye, let it be so."

As they began the tour, Antien studied the strong profile of this warrior healer, the son of Earendilion, no less. There was no higher paradigm in the healing arts, his ability to heal, his investigations, his discoveries, his integral approach to healing had created its own school, one Antien ascribed to most avidly, indeed he had his own treatise on the subject, and longed to one day converse with the master himself on the subject.

As Antien's guided tour came to an end, Balentar begged leave to stay and begin his exchange with Antien, for he was bursting with enthusiasm for what he had seen, and the ideas that were bombarding him, and so Galdithion, Elladan and Melven smiled indulgently at the two healers, before leaving the halls, bound for the barracks and a hearty lunch.

However, a commotion interrupted their walk, as the gates were set in motion, and shouting could be heard from the crenellations above.

"The detachment has arrived, they carry wounded," murmured Galdithion.

As they watched, the gates were not yet fully open as a group of 20 mounted elves thundered into the first courtyard, just behind the walls. They began to dismount in a cloud of dust – their attire a grey-black hue, with darker stains the nature of which the three friends could only guess at. Their faces were grim as they surrounded two horses, whose riders had not yet dismounted. Antien and Balantar stood off to the side, the Sindarin healer shouting orders as his people moved in to take the two wounded elves from the riders that held them firmly in place, in their protective embrace.

One elf shouted his own orders to the patrol, obviously their commander, at which the troops filed inside the healing hall and disappeared from sight.

Galdithion watched it all, for all the times he had seen this, it never ceased to strike a dull but deep pain in his chest. He had seen Legolas ride in like that so many times, clinging to a desperately injured comrade, or carried himself by those that loved him so much – when would it end?

"They are all wounded?" asked Elladan, breaking Galdithion's inner dialogue.

Turning his head briskly towards Elladan, he answered automatically and somewhat monotonously.

"Probably, yet even if they sport but a scratch, their commander will insist they seek attention, for the danger of poison is great."

"What happened, do you think?" asked Melven, as he watched the last of the warriors disappear inside.

"Any number of things, Melven. Orcs, Uruks, probably not wargs or wolves from what I have seen, and definitely not spiders," he explained, as three elves sprinted before them and into the Healing Halls, frantic family members or friends. They were more surprised when Legolas himself strode in the same direction, nodding curtly at them, before disappearing inside the halls.

Galdithion watched the play of emotions over the Noldorin warriors' faces, yet chose to say nothing as he simply led them away and to the Home Guard Barracks.

"Come, 'tis lunch time and I would have you meet my men," he said as jovially as he could manage, for Elladan and Melven's miens were dour indeed.

…..

As Legolas followed the carriers down the scantly-lit passage ways of the lower levels of the fortress, he reflected on the day's events.

He had spent the entire day with his father and Lainion, save for a brief visit to the healing halls to ascertain the details of the skirmish. The wounded, although serious, were not in danger of losing their lives. Legolas had then sent his heart-felt thanks to those that had warned him.

As for himself, well, there was nothing left to tell of his stay in Imladris, and both his father and Lainion had been left utterly stupefied before the crown and sword of Aulë. He realized then, that the days of debriefing had finally come to an end, and Legolas knew that now he would be free to return to his duties as commander of the Greenwood militia, back to blessed routine.

Two household elves were now depositing Yavanna's chest reverently inside the king's vaults, deep within the belly of the mountain, just as Legolas had requested, for these items were too valuable to be kept in his own quarters. It had been placed next to his mother's belongings in a somewhat secluded corner. His grandfather's belongings were close by – his armour, his weapons, the many crowns he had possessed – the style of which was so different to that which the Greenwood had acquired after incorporating the Sylvan and Avari into their midst, for Oropher's things were clearly Sindarin.

It was cold here, and yet the light the candles cast upon the glittering treasure of the cavern gave a strangely warm feel to the stone vault.

Now alone, he knelt before Oropher's chest, just as he had done when he was still a child, fascinated by the legend his grandfather had been. Yet today, his eyes strayed to a smaller chest which lay beside it. It was lovely to look at, and clearly feminine. This would be his grandmother's chest, she who had been queen of the Greenwood during those founding years, Adeniel Legaelariel. He remembered her well, for she had helped to raise him, together with his mother, until she had passed. His grandmother had vowed to stay until Legolas was old enough to begin his warrior training, keeping her promise and finally sailing over two thousand years ago, leaving her son to rule what was then a thriving, peaceful realm.

She had been the one to rekindle the legend of Gondolin in the young elf. From the very beginning she had told Legolas of her own father, Legaelair, scion of the house of the Silver Tree of Gondolin. From that moment, Legolas had been absorbed in her tales of the glorious days, the battles, the fall. Fascinated with this part of his heritage, he had studied, read all there was in the library, and finally, later in life when he became captain, and then commander, he adapted the predominantly Sindarin fighting style to incorporate Gondolidrim philosophy and technique, although more so in his own detachment, The Company.

It was she who had gifted him with Legaelair's armband and his ceremonial dagger, in the hope that her grandchild would preserve the legacy of Gondolin within the royal family of Greenwood, and Legolas had done just that, wearing it proudly and never forgetting who his great grand-father had been – how fate had played such a pivotal role, for Legaelair had loved Glorfindel as a friend, and – had time permitted, would have done as a lover. Yet destiny had interrupted that possibility, a Balrog had stepped between them, and Legaelair had been left alone, to start anew.

He smiled then, as he shuffled over to the delicate chest and gently pushed open the lid. He remembered her gowns, remembered _her _as the scent of his grandmother reached his senses. He would see her again, many years in the future, should he ever sail, and the thought brought another fond smile to his lips.

Pushing back the rich fabric of her gowns, he spotted a small black velvet drawbag. He took it in one hand and brought it before him. It was relatively heavy, given how small it was, and Legolas guessed correctly that it contained some kind of adornment.

Pulling the string open, he delved inside and took out the item within.

He stared at it for long moments, his mind not quite registering what now stood between his fingers, his face reflecting his confusion as his head cocked to one side and his brow furrowed, yet he continued to stare at it, trying desperately to understand why he was so confused.

It was an armband, surprisingly similar to Legaelair's, which Legolas himself wore. It was made of gold, an interlaced braiding he knew was of Gondolidrim design. It was, indeed almost identical, except that where his held the emblem of the House of the Silver Tree, this one…

His skin tingled as the fine hairs on his arms stood on end, for the implications were stunning. This is why he had been so confused when first the piece had been revealed, for the only thing that made this armband different to Legaelair's, was the emblem of the House of the Golden Flower.

As he knelt there staring at the beautiful object, his mind continued to whirl, for there was something else nagging him. These armbands were symbols of station, similar to the function of a crown. In ancient Gondolin, the lords would not remove them, just as he himself never removed his own armbands denoting his military station. How then, was this here, and not with Glorfindel in Imladris?

He suddenly drew in an audible breath and his eyes watered. Could it be….?

Fifteen minutes later, and Legolas sat in the empty library, staring at an illustration of the fall of Glorfindel of Gondolin, mighty in his armour, his hair in disarray, his face a mask of determination, his mighty sword aloft before his fiery enemy – and there, hugging his bicep, was the bracelet Legolas now held in his numb fingers.


	7. The Nature of the Enemy

CHAPTER SEVEN: The Nature of the Enemy

Today, Thranduil reminded himself once more, that there were _two_ kings in this realm, his own son had been blessed with kingship, by the Valar, no less; he was amazed that this fact could still surprise him, yet it did – it seemed impossible, yet it was the truth. And in a sense he himself had also been blessed, that his child should be appointed for such a task. Was it a blessing though? Or was it a sacrifice Thranduil was compelled to make? Would he lose his son in the dark, only to become a martyr of Elvendom? Perhaps it was a curse then …

He sat on the window seat in his bedchamber, still only partially dressed, for a mood had taken him mid-way through his valet, and so he had sat before the beauty of the Evergreen Wood to ponder his feelings, for his mind was in a turmoil, and he would not leave the room until he had ironed out the niggling, annoying pieces that were causing him anxiety.

One issue, he knew, was the fact that Legolas' ascension would have brought his most guarded memories to the fore, memories of she who had loved him more than any other, besides himself. His beautiful mother, his stunning, tragic mother, the one Thranduil had bound himself to for so many years, before losing her that fatidic day upon the barren fields of Rhovanion – and then, there was the pain in his heart for his son, because he would think of her and miss her, yet he would say nothing, deluding himself once more that his father would not realize, but he _did_, yet how he wished for blessed ignorance.

But there was more - everything that surrounded his son, for his soul was hardening, grief was drowning him – he could see it, _feel_ it almost, and no amount of love and coaxing would lift the iron grip his son kept on his sentiments.

He sighed heavily then, placing a jeweled hand on the pane of glass before him, letting his cheek rest upon the cool emerald stone on his right index finger.

Yet what could he do? Legolas would not be swayed. Every time the subject came up, he would either change it deftly, or explain his reasoning once more – always the same argument, one that Thranduil found hard to refute. Should he allow himself to _feel,_ if only for a moment, he could not know _how_, or indeed for _how long_ it would affect him – would he be back in the fray the next day, or would he fall into a depression so deep it would render him useless?

He also knew that Legolas did not confide the darker moments of his forays into the south. He had heard tales from others, passing comments that had given a whole new perspective to the reports that Legolas gave him – he knew his son was a Peace-Giver – an executioner of elves that could not be saved – sîdhoneth - _a kinslayer_ by definition. And he also knew the atrocities he had been forced to witness, and sometimes suffer. Legolas had once described what he perceived as the true nature of the enemy; it was not the orcs, the Uruks, the Ulairi – they were mere agents, the _essence_ of darkness he defined as the face of true suffering upon an innocent soul – _that_, he had said, was the hardest thing.

He let his head fall back as far as it would go, before closing his eyes as he tried and failed to ignore the image of an infant Legolas, smiling up at him in joy and innocence, perched on the lap of his beloved queen with his short, podgy arms outstretched in an unspoken plea for love, comfort and protection.

….

Legolas focused his eyes to the early morning sunshine that streamed through the open balcony, a soft breeze of pleasing woodland aromas teased his nostrils and he smiled, for the Evergreen Wood saluted him. The Greenwood, however, told him of its suffering, and if he opened his mind just a little too much, he would hear the wailing laments of those that were succumbing to the constant onslaught emanating from the south, the plea for help from those further away, the constant summons they extended to the only one that could help them.

He needed to focus himself, for briefing and training would commence with his Noldorin friends, and then – he would be back in the field where work and camaraderie would take away the quiet, dangerous moments when unwanted memories came to the fore.

Yet yesterday evening's stunning revelation had left him a little melancholic, for if his deduction was correct, his lover had been wearing the armband when he had lost his life. His eyes watered at the thought as he caressed the velvet bag that lay on the side table. He would find a safe place for it and take it with him when next he travelled to Imladris, for this symbol should rest upon the strong arm of his love once more – he would see it done.

Dressing informally, Legolas left his rooms in search of his friends and breakfast.

Galdithion and Lainion were already seated when the three friends approached and joined them, nodding dutiously to Legolas.

"Lainion is my father's personal guard, and a dear friend to him; to me he is a brother; may I present Lord Elladan Elrondion, and Lieutenant Melven Hadorion."

They exchanged formal greetings before seating themselves and beginning their repast. Melven was intrigued by the warrior that Legolas had introduced as his brother. His face was peculiar, he thought, leathery and somewhat dark, unusually lined, almost like a human, he mused. To his utter dismay, the warrior looked him straight in the eye and spoke.

"I am Avarin, and I am old. This is what old Avari look like," he said, as if talking of the weather, his face a mask of peace and serenity as he continued to eat his food with relish.

Legolas smirked as he peeked at Melven, who was mortified beyond words for having been 'caught' staring.

"Melven, Elladan. There is one thing you need to learn quickly about Lainion. He enjoys mortification, it _tickles_ him, shall we say. You provided the perfect opportunity for him to show his feathers, and worry not, for he is not angry with you, even though he may look it!"

"I, er, thank you, Lord Legolas," said Melven, "I will remember that..." he trailed off lamely, reaching for the pollen and sprinkling it somewhat clumsily over his fruit.

"Reminds me of Erestor," murmured Elladan, to which Legolas whipped his head round to Elladan, before chuckling loudly. He had not thought of that, but he was right, they did indeed have a few things in common.

Elladan smiled at Legolas' mirth, as his eyes fell upon the arm bands that the Avar wore. He recognized the status of Master in short swords and archery, but there was one that escaped his knowledge.

"Lainion, what is this armband here, what does it signify?" asked Elladan as he gestured to the object, trying his own luck with the so far mercurial warrior.

Lainion smiled then, as his expression turned wicked, mercurial no more. "_This _is one that not even Legolas has. It signifies grand mastery in hand to hand combat."

"He means," began Legolas, "that I do not _yet_ have that grade. I simply have not had the time to train for it," he said nonchalantly.

Lainion snorted as he swallowed his food. "You cannot best me yet, young King."

Legolas smiled then, before he replied. "Nay, I cannot best you, old brother." His gaze lingered a little as it was returned by an equally smiling Lainion – the love they held for one another was clear for both Noldor to see, and it pleased them.

As breakfast came to a close, Legolas turned to Elladan and Melven, explaining the events of the day before them.

"We will begin the briefings this morning and you both need kitting out. If things go well and time is on our side, then Galdithion and I have a surprise for you, my dark-haired friends," he said mysteriously, "for today, we will show you what lies below the fortress of the Greenwood…"

"Not the dungeons, I hope!" exclaimed Elladan – "I have heard all about _those_ from the dwarven emissaries in Imladris."

"Ah, but there is more down there than mere dungeons," chuckled Legolas, "a place no _dwarf _has ever set foot upon, nor ever will. Come! For we should start now if we are to have free time before the evening meal - young lords must be properly preened at all times, is that not so, Gal?"

Elladan and Melven had no idea of what he spoke, but both Sylvans had exchanged gleefully mischievous grins – something was going on, they knew, and the mystery spurred them on, and a sense of delightful playfulness descended over them all. It would be a wonderful, memorable day.

….

Legolas sat behind his desk, a desk that was perfectly neat, and clean, each scroll and parchment rigorously aligned with the one underneath, the ink pot completely straight, the blotting paper carefully placed with respect to the edge of the table that faced the commander, who sat straight-backed, calm and collected, lord and owner of his perfect table and its contents.

It was strange to see him here, as a scribe or secretary, for this was an elf of action, a field elf – yet 'what had he expected?' thought Elladan ruefully. Organizing an army this big required long hours of paperwork, he knew, yet he had always left that to Elrohir or Erestor.

Dimaethor joined them then, bowing to his commander before sitting beside the table and folding his arms.

"Lieutenants, we will start today's activities by briefing you on the Greenwood militia, its organization, numbers, hierarchy and so forth. Captain?" prompted Legolas.

"We are two thousand strong," began Dima. "The ratio of experienced field warriors and new recruits is approximately half, therefore early recruitment and intensive training are paramount to the safety of the realm.

Our troops are organized into groups of twenty – they cannot be large, as stealth is a major factor in almost any fighting situation in the Greenwood. Each group of twenty is a detachment, or patrol – The Company is one such detachment. In such a group, there is either a captain or a lieutenant, sometimes both if the mission is of importance. This means that there are 100 detachments all in all, each with a captain or lieutenant, or both. Do you both follow me so far? Are there any questions, Lieutenants?"

Both sat listening intently, each piece of information stashed away for future use. Dima had been nothing if not clear and succinct, and so they both nodded for him to continue.

"Some detachments are specialized in a particular area, north, south, east, west. They are particularly familiar with the trees and rivers of the area, and the small villages within, its people, leaders and so forth. Other detachments are itinerant, moving out to wherever they are needed, these are the detachments that usually contain the new recruits, although there are always exceptions.

The Company operates to the south, south-west and south-east, and so we often meet with Barabor and his men, or Gondien to the east.

It takes about a week of brisk riding to reach the southern areas. Generally, we will be away for a month, two weeks of which are travelling time, another two weeks to patrol the area, check on the dwellings and villages, and intercept any enemy activity. We then meet up with the southern detachment and we ride back to the fortress to rest for three or four days, if the situation permits, and then - we ride out again. That is our routine," concluded Dimaethor, watching the two warriors for any sign of confusion. There was none.

It was Legolas who continued.

"Prince Bandorion, my uncle, commands the army together with myself. He organizes the patrols, distributes the manpower on my recommendations from the field. I decide our strategies and register all maneuvers in the field. Captain Dimaethor serves as lieutenant in the company, yet if I am away or unable to patrol, he takes over as captain. All the members of the company presently have the theoretical rank of lieutenant, yet they choose not to serve as such, so that we may stay together. Dimaethor, Pengon, Lindohtar, Ram en'Ondo, Koron en' Naur, Idrenohtar and Nanern have been with me for many years, but we are eleven short in order to constitute a patrol. With you two, that leaves nine we must recruit either for this first ride, or the next. You will, therefore, be joined by six other recruits for the adjustment training."

"A question, Commander, if I may?" asked Elladan.

At Legolas' nod, he asked a question he knew may be somewhat sensitive, and so he proceded with caution.

"What happened in the Company?"

Legolas sighed, sparing a quick glance at Dimaethor who turned his head towards the window. After a moment, Legolas answered him slowly, and rather quietly.

"We were already four short but had not had the time to recruit new members, for that was a time of much enemy activity. We were, ambushed – taken captive, and by the time it was over, we had lost seven, either to torture, or later succumbing to infection as we fled to safety. This event spurred my father's consent to seek help, and thus the Spring Festival, for he realized then, that we could not, _should_ not, continue to fight in solitude.

Elladan was sorry he had asked, for the full story would be nothing short of horrific, he was sure.

"I am sorry, my Lord, I did not mean to bring you sadness," said Elladan.

"I know, and the question was a pertinent one. Now," he said, returning to the briefing and effectively avoiding any further inquiry. "It is important, before you start your adjustment training, that you know what enemy you face, and so I ask you now, Lieutenants. What nature of enemy have you fought – Melven?"

"Orcs and goblins, men occasionally, Commander."

"The same for me, although I confronted a troll once," added Elladan, a frown marring his face.

"Ah, was it painful?" asked Legolas, a half smile on his face.

"Excruciating, Sir."

"Well, you will find those here too, although we haven't sighted a troll for quite some time. Now we must add to your list the Uruk Hai, Red Fangs, Yellow Bellies, black wolves and _Ulairi_," he said with a fierce smirk on his face.

He paused here, waiting for the inevitable reaction, and he was not disappointed, for both sat wide-eyed. On the one hand, they had no idea what an Uruk Hai was, and on the other, they had not realized they would have to face black riders. As for the spiders, they had heard rumours, and both were frankly apprehensive of their size, of how to fight them, the poison they injected, its results …

"You have questions," stated Legolas, "ask them."

"What is an Uruk Hai?" blurted a wide-eyed Melven.

Legolas and Dima shared a shocked look before turning back to the Noldo in disbelief. It took both woodland warriors the better part of the morning to fill them in on the nature of what they would be confronting, both informing and answering the many questions the lieutenants had.

It was the smell of food that alerted them to the time that had passed since they had started the briefing, and so Legolas finally rose, clapping Dima on the shoulder as he effectively brought their meeting to a close.

"Come and eat with your new colleagues, Lieutenants, for you will be spending the better part of the next year with them."

They both nodded, yet the thought of food had brought an acrid taste to Melven's mouth, for he had been remembering Legolas' words about the Red Fangs, and the Yellow Bellies, how to kill them, the effects of their poison on an elf – the thought of placing anything into his delicate stomach right now was enough to make him wretch – almost.

Legolas and Dima walked in silent contemplation, for Elladan had unwittingly brought the memories back, memories they had both fought so hard to push to the back of their minds, for they could never forget those days of darkness, torment and loss.

…..

Lunch at the barracks had been – interesting. It was not only The Company that felt curiosity for these Noldorin warriors, but the entire Greenwood army! The soldiers on duty had stared as surreptitiously as they had been able, but for Melven and Elladan, their perusal had been more than obvious. Lindo, especially could not seem to take his eyes off Melven at all, something that had not gone unnoticed by any, except by Melven himself, perhaps. It had set Legolas to thinking, for Elladan was by far the most favoured of the two, and he thought then, that perhaps Galdithion's interest in him had not gone unnoticed either, enough to dissuade others from the hunt, for Galdithion was well respected.

The other six recruits were also garnering their share of curious stares. They had all belonged to the field army, and had been singled out by their captains for service in The Company, all save Barathon, of course. Should they pass the rigorous training they were required to endure, they would become members together with Elladan and Melven, and ride out in two week's time. Yet they were somewhat insular, thought Dima, as he observed them quietly, they had formed a group within the group, and that was never a good thing. He had spoken to Hwindo and the others about his concerns and all had agreed that perhaps, they were simply trying too hard, or were over-awed. However, they had decided to try and draw them out before the time came to decide, for there could be no division between them where they were going.

Later, the new recruits had been whisked away to the tailors by Pengon and Lindo for fitting, all except for Barathon, who already had his uniform. Elladan had had a minor anxiety attack at the prospect of wearing a skirt, and it had been Melven who pointed out that The Company looked more than good in theirs, and so why wouldn't they? He had not been lying, for it was true – yet he was nowhere near happy with the prospect either. They had been surprised at the heavy duty boots they would be wearing out in the field. They had metal reinforcements around the back and the tips, details that made them quite heavy. And then they had none of the fancy, shiny arm bands all their colleagues wore…even the other five recruits had at least one, denoting their mastery in their preferred weapons.

Later still, Koron and Ram en' had ushered them to the storage rooms to find everything else they would need. Satchels, arrow fletching kits, water skins, first-aid kits… they were extraordinarily well prepared and carried a surprising amount of articles on themselves and in their riding panniers.

"Now," began Koron, "we will go back to the barracks and sort out your rooms, and after that, Melven, Elladan, you have an appointment with Commander Legolas."

"Indeed, he was somewhat remiss about what exactly will be going on, something about an area under the fortress…" prompted Elladan, who glanced at Melven, both hoping Koron would give them a little insight.

"Then if he was remiss, there is a reason for it, however, I am sure you will enjoy yourselves…"

Melven and Elladan looked at each other once more, both wearing frustrated frowns, these warriors were far too loyal for their own good, and for theirs.

….

It was late afternoon when Legolas met up with Galdithion, Elladan and Melven once more, and was now leading the way down a set of stairs that lead off from the main foyer. The mystery had been set before, at breakfast, and whatever it was that was down here, besides the famous dungeons, was about to be revealed.

Now stairs that led to basements and storage facilities were generally poor – narrow and underlit, slippery, dank steps that were hardly wide enough for the foot of a grown elf. Yet these were magnificent, just as wide as the upper floor staircases, the walls lined with artwork, which curiously depicted scenes of elves reclining in different positions, bathing in pools, under waterfalls – it was the same theme, painting after painting, tapestry after tapestry. They were beautiful, and well lit by the abundant torches and candles lining the walls, illuminating the way as they went. Elladan wanted to stop and admire the work, but he was too curious to postpone the mystery, and so he trailed behind his hosts as his eyes lingered. A sharp intake of breath brought him back to the present, drawing his attention to his surroundings, now taking in the sight that stood before him. It had been Melven, who had audibly gasped as he stepped out into the open air, even though he had believed himself inside a cave. Elladan himself was disorientated for a moment, before he realized that they must have come out of the mountain through its base, and thus, had stepped on what was, for these elves, sacred ground – for they were now standing on the fertile ground of the Evergreen Wood.

Moving away from the stone doorway through which they had passed, Elladan was glad no one spoke, for he needed a moment to simply adjust himself to the brutal onslaught of visual and sensorial stimulus. The peculiar light, the smell of fresh pine, the crisp air, the sheer beauty of the landscape before him. He had stepped into another world, thought Elladan – he had left the mundane behind, and crossed over into the arcane.

The climate was completely different, the smells, sights and sounds alien to him, not at all similar to the woods before the fortress. Sparing a glance at Galdithion, he found his friend watching him, a serene smile on his beautiful face, a face that seemed to Elladan then, to belong here – Galdithion was a part of this paradise, had been born here, and he thought then, that he was just as beautiful, standing there before the proud spruce and pine, looking at him as his chestnut hair moved around him, his light grey eyes sparkling. For Elladan, the forest faded away then, leaving only the sight of what he now realized was the elf he desired. He smiled, yet his eyes were swimming, for the moment had been transcendental, his soul had been moved and he was left with the uncontrollable desire to take the guard in his arms and make love to him.

Legolas, ever perceptive, had seen Elladan's face transform, and smiled before wandering over to Melven, slapping him upon the shoulder without a word and walking away with the lieutenant, leaving the two to discover their feelings for one another. He had seen the realization in Elladan's eyes, and had rejoiced for his friend, for Elladan loved Galdithion, he was sure of it.

Galdithion stood transfixed as he watched Elladan observe him. His face had been nothing short of an open book then, for he had seen wonder, then disbelief, and then – blatant desire, unbridled passion, and so he slowly glided towards Elladan, his eyes not once straying from the deep grey orbs of the warrior he so desired, searching, analyzing, watching for the slightest flicker of emotion, yet his face was set as he watched Galdithion approach.

"I have wanted you for many weeks now, Elladan," he whispered as he raised his hand to place it gently around the side of his friend's face, "yet I was unsure, and worried at the difference in our respective stations – but I _cannot _hold this back, Elladan, in whatever shape or form our relationship may take, I will have it, for I want you, now."

Elladan's eyes were wide as he listened to the words that Galdithion whispered fiercely, standing just before him, his beauteous visage but a scant distance from his own, his eyes piercing and smouldering, alight with desire – passion.

"Then have me, for the love of the Gods!" he said, already loosening his shirt, moving his face forwards and taking Galdithion's lips in a first, bruising kiss that sent them both reeling, so much so, that Galdithion placed his hands on his lovers shoulders and moved him backwards, until his back collided with the trunk of a fragrant spruce – he would have him here, for all that was holy.


	8. Come Fly With Me

Warning: this chapter has been edited to comply with ffnet regulations. You can read the original, full NC-17 version at lotrfanfiction dot com, or adultfanfiction dot com

CHAPTER EIGHT: Fly With Me

Melven sat in a pool of steaming, crystal clear water, the smell of it was peculiar, although he knew not what made it that way. He half stood, half floated in the water, his body relaxing as he was sent into a state of semi-vigil, until Legolas broke the silence.

"You cannot sleep now, Melven, for we have only just begun."

"Um… I would not dream of it, my friend, 'tis only that this is such… _bliss_ I tell you. I could stay here all day, my body rendered but a shriveled plum yet I would be the happiest of elves…"

Legolas smiled as he closed his own eyes, leaning his head against the stone ledge behind him. The two had been met by Huoriel, the administrator of the natural spa which sat under the mountain dwelling of the wood elves. Legolas had kissed her on the lips, much to Melven's surprise, and he was left wondering whether this female was one of the lord's lovers, he wouldn't be surprised, of course, for this elf seemed to have lovers at every turn. They had then been undressed by a beautiful, dark-haired female by the name of Minu, and a sinfully innocent looking male, whom Legolas had called Imrah. Once naked, they had been ushered towards this pool, one of several that dotted the cavern floor.

The pools were located inside the base of the mountain, surrounded on three sides by solid stone, and was completely open on the remaining side, which lent a stunning view of the Evergreen Wood. Just outside the opening, was a grassy hill which dipped downwards, beyond which nothing could be seen, for they were still relatively high up.

Legolas had explained to Melven that this was a place of pleasure and health, taken either separately or together. One could simply receive a treatment for the skin or hair, perhaps for a special occasion, or, should the mood take you, to receive a little Carnal Delight, for much to Melven's surprise, the Greenwood courtesans worked here, all of them skilled in aesthetics, hair experts, skin therapists, they knew every remedy, every herb, oil and cream for enhancing the body – for _this_, was Finlond.

A subtle slosh alerted Melven that Legolas had propelled himself out of the waters, into the arms of a serene Minu, who wrapped his waist in a white cloth and led him through an archway that shone a bright orange. Legolas spared one last backward glance at Melven, a sly smirk on his angelic face. Imrah crouched behind the dark warrior, bending his head close as he spoke softly in Melven's ear.

"Will you accompany me, Lieutenant?" he said, in a low, husky voice that had absolutely nothing in common with his boyish appearance.

Without a word, Melven left the pool, as Imrah openly inspected the warrior's form. He smiled as he wrapped a cloth around the warrior's middle and led him through the same archway through which Legolas had disappeared just moments before.

There were solid stone beds which had been carved from the rock itself, similar to those within the healing halls. Each bed had a screen of wood and parchment beside it, which let the light through, yet gave a modicum of privacy for whatever would go on behind them. Legolas lay naked, face-down behind one, the lovely Minu hovering over him as she selected one of the many bottles that lined the shelves behind her. The lord rested his head on his arms, his long hair wet and dripping, fell to the ground below.

Melven thought then, that he should lie down now, lest his body betray him, and so he did, as he willed his incipient erection to go away. He felt warm oily hands contact with his own heated skin. Imrah had begun his magic as he kneaded and massaged, using his fingers, his palms, his forearms to give Melven such delight as he had never felt. He was, by now, incapable of speech, but the groans that escaped him were more than expressive, as he, in turn, registered those of Legolas. They were separated by the flimsy screens between their stone altars, yet Melven could easily interpret the shadows they cast, as a female with ample breasts sat atop a prostrate Legolas, taking her pleasure as she rode him with relish.

…

Elladan and Galdithion lounged against the cool stone of the pool, lost in each other's arms as they drifted so very pleasantly on a wave of pure bliss, yet the peaceful silence was suddenly and utterly broken by the mad laughing and whooping coming from the tunnel, approaching fast. As they turned their heads sluggishly to see what would emerge from the orange hue, the gloriously naked body of Legolas came into sight. He ran like the wind, a laughing and flapping Melven, equally naked, dashing after him, trying and failing to keep up with the Forest Lord.

The two lovers looked on in amusement, for some dare had been issued by the mischievous look on their friends' faces and the fun they were having.

"Run like the wind, Melven, don't stop – just do as I do –" shouted Legolas over his shoulder, and with that, Legolas disappeared through the cavern exit and into the bright light beyond. Just scant seconds after him was Melven, his legs pumping madly, his arms seeking for balance as he whooshed past the steaming pool until he, too, had disappeared. However, no sooner had he passed beyond their sight, than a long, drawn out wail could be heard, which transformed itself into a terrified scream – and then there was silence.

Elladan turned his concerned face to Galdithion, whose face was an unreadable mask.

"Are you elf enough, Elladan? Do you have what it takes?"

"For you, I would do anything," he stated categorically, pleased at the satisfied look on his lover's face.

"Then come, fly with me…"

And with that, not leaving time for Elladan to reply, he took his hand in an iron grip, as they pulled themselves out of the pool. Galdithion spared one last glance at his unwitting lover, kissed him sweetly and then began to run, pulling Elladan with him.

Elladan ran fast – he had to, to keep up with this Sylvan sprite. Their black and chestnut hair streamed behind their naked bodies until they were finally out of the cave and in the bright sunshine, running – downhill… the hill was so steep and they had caught such momentum that Elladan could not have stopped even if he wanted to, which he did, for the grass disappeared just a few meters before him, and what lay beyond could not be seen, but there was a roaring sound that was only too familiar to him.

He turned his panicked face to Galdithion for reassurance, yet the only thing he saw was joy, as his lover smiled beautifully and his eyes sparkled – he was full of life and exuberance as he held out his other arm, returning his lover's gaze.

"Fly with me," he said again, and Elladan screamed as the ground beneath him disappeared and they fell through the air.

…..

Sometime later, the four lay together – their hair wrapped in hot towels, balmed with a recipe of calendula cream, their eyes closed as the arnica gel slowly worked its way into the pores of the delicate skin, refreshing and rejuvenating it. Their bodies were worked by the strong hands of the masseurs that attended them, strapping males that were bare from the waist up, their hair tied neatly back so as not to hinder their work.

It was Legolas who broke the opulent silence.

"Well, my Noldorin friends, did you enjoy the flight?"

Galdithion could not hold back his mirth as he snorted and cackled evilly at how Elladan had screamed as he had unexpectedly jumped off the cliff and down the waterfall, into the pool below, on the banks of which they now lounged.

Elladan schooled his features, replying to the still giggling Sylvan as pompously as he could manage.

"A simple scream is to be expected, Galdithion, yet it was not _I _that wailed like a banshee… "

By now, Legolas was holding his sides as his masseur struggled to maintain his grip on the strong shoulders.

Melven held his hands over his face, for he was mortified. He _had_ wailed, and then screamed like a child – a _female_ child.

Once he was able to control himself, Legolas took pity on the suffering Melven and decided to change the subject.

"Well, my friends, has this not been a good day for us all?" he asked, a saucy smile upon his lips.

"The first thing I shall do when I get back home, is to suggest to my father he open a Finlond – for we have natural hot springs there, too, although they are a little further out. Perhaps sweet Minu or Imrah could come on the exchange program, show us how to work it," suggested Elladan.

The courtesans simply smiled serenely as they continued with their work, but the words had had a profound impact on them, they would speak to Minu later, for the possibilities were intriguing…

…

The four friends had ambled back to their quarters, deliciously relaxed and sated. Legolas had suggested a light meal and a nightcap in his quarters, to which all had agreed – _this _nightcap, however, would be just that, a drink before bed.

After eating, they had settled themselves in the living room before the roaring hearth, and were now helping themselves to the rich wine which sat on a low table, Elladan and Galdithion unashamedly embracing each other. Galdithion spared a quick glance at his friend, who smiled before turning his attention to his wine and taking a generous gulp.

Melven for his part, simply watched, smiling contentedly at the two, new-found lovers, remembering the days he too had fallen in love with his bonded mate. Yet he knew only too well how love could peter out if not nurtured by both – love was a precious gift that must be fed or perish as all things starved, and Melven knew of what he spoke.

"Well now, Gal – you have your heart's desire, your Noldorin warrior seems to reciprocate your attentions…"

Gal looked down at Elladan, who reclined sensuously in his arms.

"Well? Do you?" he asked, as he poised a sugared chestnut before his lover's pink lips.

Elladan watched him – this Sylvan guard, for his words had sounded insecure and Elladan thought that perhaps he knew why.

"I do," he murmured as his wet, pink tongue reached for the treat, which Galdithion popped inside his lover's mouth, his groin swelling as he stared down at this glorious elf, the one he wished to possess once more.

"Galdithion, for the love of the Valar, take yourself and your lover to your rooms and show him your desire – leave Melven and I to our cups if you please – and take those damned chestnuts with you."

Two glasses of wine later, two drowsy elves sat before the fire in silence, each lost in his own thoughts.

"Well, Melven. Who would have thought. That day in the Valley as you spoke with your friends and called us 'Twirling Faeries' – who would say that we would find ourselves here, sharing wine together and calling each other friends," mused Legolas as he sipped on the rich wine.

He was not being cruel, but he had to speak of it – there could be no hard feelings between them, he wanted it all out in the open.

Melven did not answer immediately, but took his time to think on the words Legolas had uttered. He had been most pejorative, he had actually hated this elf who now sat before him, the same elf that now invited him into his home and offered him friendship. He was ashamed yet he also knew that he could not continue to flagellate himself with the past. He had changed, and if he could recognize that, he could also forgive himself.

"Indeed, my friend," he said as he looked at Legolas, his eyes unwavering, steadfast. "I never asked your forgiveness for my behavior although I always hoped that you would see me for what I am, an elf that has seen his faults and that seeks to redeem himself… I am honoured to call you friend, my Lord – Legolas – for you are good, and fair, judicious and generous, all those things I strive for, _have been_ in times long past. Perhaps I can find myself once more, here, amongst your people."

Legolas held his gaze, watching his friend's face as he confessed so humbly his shortcomings and his aspirations. That was no easy task, one that required humility and intelligence, qualities that were so very hard to find, and so Legolas decided that Melven was, indeed, a worthy friend, one he very much wished to see thrive, fulfill his desires during the coming year – a year he knew would be both arduous and rewarding, heart-breaking yet joyous.

….

They took breakfast at the fortress, for they had slept there the night before, yet as of today, that would change.

Antien already sat at the Noldorin table, invited by Balentar and both were immersed in a conversation. The four friends joined the two healers, who stood and bowed before sitting again and resuming their debate as they munched on their food.

"Nay, the toxin contains a substance that affects the muscles only, especially those of the legs – it is hard to describe, Balentar."

"But you _must_, I need to document this if I am to have the slightest chance of success with an antidote."

"Then you have just the person to ask – I am sure Lord Legolas can describe the symptoms."

Legolas looked up at hearing his name, he already knew of what they spoke.

"Yellow belly poisoning…" he said flatly, as he began to eat, looking at Balentar expectantly. Melven and Elladan began their own repast, but the memories of their briefing just yesterday made their stomach turn. Melven especially, wished that Balentar would shut up and change the subject.

"Can you describe the effects on the muscles, my Lord?" he asked, as he leant forward.

"It first creates the need to move. You become restless, your legs shake involuntarily yet you also need to lift them, rock them, bend them – 'tis a strange sensation indeed."

"How do you feel if you do not move them?"

"Anxious."

"Good, and then?"

"They begin to shake more until they cramp, and the pain is excrutiating," he said nonchalantly as he took a bite from his bread and honey. "The muscles contract and shift your limbs into strange positions, your toes open, your fingers, your wrist bends at an awkward angle – that sort of thing."

Melven continued to eat slowly, taking a glance at Elladan, who had, he realized, become immersed in the conversation.

"Alright, that gives me a good idea of what I am facing – is there anything more?"

Legolas looked up at him then, somewhat surprised before answering.

"_That,_ is just the beginning, Balentar."

"Ah, I see."

By the time Legolas had finished, Melven sat before his half-finished food, a decidedly gray hue over his skin. He swallowed hard before rising and excusing himself, walking away somewhat stiffly.

"I do believe we have turned his stomach," said Elladan as he watched his friend leave the table.

"Well, he'd better get used to it," replied Balentar. "This is no place for weak stomachs!"

"Indeed not," replied Legolas, his plate now empty and a satisfied smile on his face. "Now come, Elladan. Find Melven, go to the barracks and find Idreno. He will tell you what to do. I will see you on the training field!" And with that, he stood and left, Galdithion striding purposefully behind him.

…..

Melven and Elladan stood side by side, together with five other warriors, all identically clad in black leggings and boots, and the famous brown leather skirt and sleeveless jerkins. The reglamentary vambraces covered the entire forearm. They were fully armed, as per their orders. Bows and arrows, swords and knives upon their backs, inside their boots. All in all, their uniform was heavy.

Barathon, Legolas' cousin, joined them, smiling as he nodded, somewhat condescendingly, thought Elladan. Legolas had been ordered to accept him on the adjustment training and in return, had reserved the right to not include him on their forays should he not meet the required standards. Barathon was an embarrassing situation for the royal family, it was widely understood that this move had been necessary, and if Barathon was as useless as he was made out to be, then sooner or later he would make a mistake that was serious enough for Legolas to expel him – but it had to be made clear that they had tried and failed, rather than not giving him the opportunity to succeed at all.

It was The Company's job to get them ready for action in the most conflictive areas of the Greenwood. They would not go easy on them, for one mistake could have fatal results. As of today, they would train them to their physical limits for two weeks, during which they would also receive classes on tracking, first aid, tactics and non-verbal communication, for the Company had developed a highly sophisticated language using bird calls.

They stood to attention as Legolas and his eight companions moved into a line in front of them. They were glorious, identically dressed to the recruits, yet their arms were covered in bands, each one of them a master in at least one discipline, some in two, Legolas in three.

"Today," began the commander, "we begin your adjustment training. Only the toughest, bravest and most skilled have a place here with us," he gestured to his men at his side. "You have all shown your worth on the battle field and will continue to do so – but can you be a part of The Company?"

Dimaethor stepped forward then and shouted out his orders.

"Maintain the line, to the right at a brisk jog around the perimeter until further orders!" And with that, the warriors began to run around the training field, while The Company stood together in the centre, pointing out this or that warrior, commenting on physical strength or lack thereof.

Each had been assigned his own personal trainer. Lindo had, of course, requested to train Melven, and Legolas himself would train Elladan. Ram en' Ondo had been unfortunate enough to draw the short straw and would be in charge of Barathon's training.

Yet that first day, the recruits had simply ran – for long, grueling hours – a task that had shown The Company how fit each of them were. Elladan and Melven had held their own, but were by no means the fittest of the group – they had some hard days ahead, mused Legolas as they finally broke ranks and walked back to the barracks.

Barathon nodded and went his own way, leaving the other recruits to hobble back to the barracks. Melven and Elladan had only just caught their breath, when Legolas and Pengon approached them, slapping them both on their leather-clad shoulders.

"This evening, The Company will visit Imderen, a small village not half an hour's ride out, will you join us?"

Elladan looked at Melven for confirmation before answering for both.

"If we have energy enough to get out of our baths, we will join you, my Lord."

"At the twentieth hour then, at the gates," smiled Legolas, before walking back to his men.

"Are you alright, Melven?" asked a concerned Elladan, for the elf was pale and sweaty, he dragged his feet and his shoulders were slumped. He thought perhaps that he himself might look something like that, and the idea brought a smile to his face, which in turn elicited a frown from his friend.

"Does my pathetic physical appearance amuse you, Elladan?" he asked, only half serious, he knew Elladan meant him no harm, however he felt vile and his mood had turned sour.

"Nay, I was thinking we must both be a sight – we need a bath, hearty food and a night with the lads – come! You will feel better in no time!"


	9. The Screaming Warrior

CHAPTER NINE: The Screaming Warrior

Author's note: this chapter has been edited to comply with ffnet policies. You can read the full version at lotrfanfiction dot com or on Esteliel's site, Faerie.

Elladan had had to wrench himself from the bath, for he had caught himself falling asleep, the sudden loss of consciousness jerking him back to reality as water sloshed onto the floor. The bathing rooms at the barracks were communal, yet even so, they spared no luxury here either; the plethora of oils, herbs and aromas on offer to the warriors was just as generous as in his rooms at the fortress. Drying himself off, he wandered into the small room he had been assigned, nodding to the warriors that passed him on their way to the baths. Opening his wardrobe as he tied the towel around his middle, he pondered his attire for the evening. He supposed that informal wear would be in order. They would be riding, and then eating and drinking, and more, he supposed, and so he chose a pair of dark blue leggings, his soft leather boots and a deep burgundy tunic over a white, high-collared shirt. Just as he took his brush to his loose hair, a knock at his door revealed Galdithion, dressed in his Home Guard uniform.

"You look lovely, Elladan. Would that I could accompany you, alas I am on duty this evening."

"Help me?" he asked, holding the brush out to Galdithion, who accepted it with a sweet smile.

He sat behind his lover and began to smooth the long black hair with one hand as he brushed with the other.

"I have heard the men talk of a place called 'Haven' – is that where The Company will take us?" asked Elladan.

"'Tis an area near the village of Imderen - one of The Company's favourite places. A rough, bawdy place, full of warriors and hunters, yet the food and wine is excellent, and there is plenty of company to be had."

"Ah, and yet perhaps I will not indulge, if you are not there…" he said quietly, yet Galdithion was quick to counter him.

"Oh, but you must! Their offer is – exotic shall we say, you cannot miss out on it, I would never forgive you!"

"Well, if you put it _that_ way, perhaps just a little taste…" he smiled wickedly before Galdithion kissed him, and bid him good night, not before taking one last wistful look at his handsome Noldorin lord.

…

Down at the gates, The Company was gathering. They greeted each other effusively and then mercilessly mocked each other for their choice of clothing and accessories, or the scent they had used. In truth, they had all made an effort to look handsome tonight. They had chosen their clothing well, adorned themselves yet no too much, and had braided their hair in a variety of different ways.

The new recruits hovered on the outskirts of the main group, not quite sure of their position within the ranks of this elite detachment. Legolas and Dima had decided to invite them along, in the hope that they would enjoy themselves enough to forget the legend of The Company, and simply enjoy – well, their _company._

It was strange to see them in civilian clothing, mused Melven, as he approached, yet he held back a moment to better observe them. They looked colourful and bright, carefree and joyous, not at all the imposing, frightening warriors he had seen on the training field this morning, however obvious it _was_ that they were all unusually strong and fit. It seemed to Melven then, that these forays were their only chance of escape, for during the day, even when off duty, Melven had observed that they were much solicited, that save for the privacy of their family dwellings or their rooms in the barracks, they were always under public scrutiny, unable to just be themselves, relax, be mischievous, lustful, get drunk, _play _– for the onus of responsibility and expectation was simply too great.

This was, perhaps what had happened to himself in Imladris, yet Melven had not had the company of such close or wise friends to take him away, extract him from his environment into another, anonymous setting, were he could just – _be himself_…

Lindo saw him first and shouted his greeting and waving him over.

"Melven! Come join us," he exclaimed as he placed a hand in the small of his back. "You look lovely this evening, my friend," he said more quietly, watching Melven's eyes for a reaction, and finding one.

"Thank you, Lindo, as do you," he replied, his eyes raking appreciatively over the lithe figure of the Bard Warrior. It was enough for Lindo to believe he had a chance with the Noldorin lieutenant, and so he drew him into the circle of off-duty warriors who stood waiting for the last two members of the group.

Legolas arrived with Elladan then, and though neither wore any symbols of station, they were both, unmistakably lords, for they carried themselves with pride and strength, a result of their life-long training as leaders of their people.

"Well, gentlemen. Shall we explain the rules to our new warriors?" asked Legolas rhetorically.

"That would be wise, Hwindo," replied Koron en', taking the task upon himself.

"We are known to all, even our names, yet there is an unspoken agreement to not acknowledge us, in case there is unfriendly company. We address each other with our warrior names, no titles, and are otherwise free to do as we please. Is that clear for you all?"

"Crystal clear, it makes perfect sense," replied Elladan. "It is the same for my brother and I when we ride out with our friends, yet what will we be named?" he asked, gesturing at Melven and himself.

"El and Mel?" suggested Nanern as his mind began to play with what seemed to him the title of a chronicle. "There were once, two Noldorin warriors… El and Mel from Riven_dell_…"

The Company giggled at his eccentricity, until Hwindo took his saddle, his long green cape swirling behind him, his hair whipping around to settle over one shoulder, trailing down to his brown-clad thigh, and Elladan was struck one more by how beautiful this elf was. There was no placing his origins, for his colouring was of that of the Sindar, his clothes, however, were both Sylvan and Gondolidrim, as were his accessories. He was a child of Elvendom, and Elladan wondered then, if he had any Noldorin blood in his veins.

Once all were seated, the gate keepers began to turn the handles that would open the heavy oak, smiling as they watched their warriors ride out for a night of fun – for the Valar knew they deserved it, more than most. Too often had they seen their tears at the funeral rites for lost warriors, or their pain and suffering after a skirmish in the woods.

Thus, The Company rode out; the shy group of new recruits for their first night of fun, together with Hwindohtar, Dimaethor, Pengon, Koron en' Naur, Ram en' Ondo, Idrenohtar, Nanern, Lindohtar, and, of course, Elladan and Melven, who was blissfully unaware that _he_ was about to gain his very own warrior name.

….

They had maintained a soft canter for most of the way there, over green fields, through glades and copses, up and down the majestic, rolling hills, only slowing to a trot when traversing the more populated areas.

It was dark now, and Elladan could make out many lights high up in the trees. Lindo had explained to them both that in this area, the population preferred to live in flets. There were some buildings on the ground, but they tended to be barns for domestic animals and for storage purposes.

They received many bows and waves along the way, and The Company would always respond, lifting their hands or nodding their heads. They were neither arrogant nor boastful of the attention they received, for the concept of service to others had been drilled into them since they were cadets. Indeed arrogance was scorned upon, one of the reasons why Barathon was so unpopular, for he flaunted his exalted line like a trophy, singing his own, supposed merits to any that would listen, which was the majority, for it would be considered rude to ignore one of the royal family. Hence Legolas had not extended an invitation to his cousin, for he knew it would spoil their night.

They soon slowed to a walk as they entered a village, Imderen, Elladan supposed. The dwellings here were both elevated and on the ground, and there was no mistaking the large, well-lit establishment at the end of the main pathway, they had arrived at Haven.

They came to a halt half-way down the lane, where a crowd of stable lads flooded out of the well-appointed building, strangely large for a village so small. Melven guessed that Haven must be a popular inn indeed, for the village seemed to rotate around it, grown disproportionately to its population.

It was not long before The Company were handing over their horses to the enthusiastic boys, who called the warriors by their names, asking after the battles they had fought. Those simply passing by had stopped to watch, smiling as the warriors ruffled the boys' hair, observing the looks of awe and worship on their young, innocent faces. Once they were free to continue on foot, the villagers held out their arms to the group, which was, once more, answered by a reverent bow from them all.

Huddling together now, they strode down the path as inconspicuously as they could, which was not at all, until they were before the open doors of Haven. The whole building glowed a bright orange, the sounds of laughing and shouting, singing and whooping seemed strangely out of place in elven society, and it seemed to Elladan that the entire village was inside, for all he could make out through the many open windows, was a sea of heads. It reminded him of Bree, but without the filth and stench of that human village on the outskirts of his homeland.

It was Hwindohtar who first crossed the threshold, for although this was not a military mission, the warriors would always treat their commander with the utmost deference. The noise level dropped momentarily, before picking up again, each group returning to their own private parties. They had been seen, and the unspoken pact clicked into place. If this inn wanted The Company to continue coming, they would leave them to their devices, and make sure they were not harassed.

An elf in a long apron stood before Legolas then, bowing before addressing the lord.

"Hwindo. We are most honoured to serve you and The Company once more," he said humbly.

"Thank you, Lithônion. We require the usual services today, as we celebrate the arrival of two new members of our group, and five trainees," smiled Legolas as he glanced at Elladan and Melven, effectively directing the innkeeper's line of sight.

"Then be you most welcome, warriors of The Company, I hope you have a pleasant stay with us."

"You are most kind, Lithônion," replied Elladan graciously.

They were ushered into an exclusive corner where a large round table had already been cleared and prepared for them, for it was clean, its candles lit, and wine already stood at its centre, nine goblets arranged around its perimeter. The innkeeper soon arrived with seven more, adjusting the others so that they were equidistant. Elladan was struck by the realization that these people knew how many warriors were presently in The Company – for there should have been twenty, and yet there were nine – and nine goblets.

Soon, they were all removing their capes and gloves, and seating themselves around the table. Two females were soon attending to them, taking their order for food. Both Elladan and Melven had deferred to their colleagues, for they had no idea what to order. The other five sat silently, obediently, yet The Company had not allowed them to sit together.

"This is the house wine; it is produced not far from here, an excellent vintage that Hwindo's father is very partial to," said Ram en'.

"I am sure it is very good," replied Melven, somewhat stiffly.

"Agh, they will soon loosen up after a few cups!" exclaimed Pengon loudly, to which there was a thundering "ah" as a reply.

The wine promptly fell into eager hands as each raised their goblet and turned their heads to Hwindo.

"I have two announcements to make. First, we, The Company, wish to welcome Melven Hadorion and Elladan Elrondion into our brotherhood. We wish you strength and wisdom, love and joy. Welcome!"

"Welcome!" they all thundered, before cheering and clapping the now smiling Noldorin warriors upon the shoulder, and then taking another generous gulp from their goblets.

"Also, five of our candidates accompany us today, in the hope that we will come to know each other better, welcome to you also, my friends, relax, for there is no scrutiny tonight."

The five recruits were as red as a beetroot, yet they smiled shyly. Legolas had been right, thought Dima – they were over-awed, and this was the best way to get that out of their system.

"The second announcement, is that Melven Hadorion has been baptized, by me!"

The cheers went up again, but soon quietened as they settled down for the tale.

"It happened in Finlond…" he was promptly interrupted by a series of jeers and bawdy laughter, before Legolas held up his arms for silence.

"We had both received the most exquisite of attentions and Hadorion was in danger of falling asleep, or so it seemed to me. I decided then, that there would be no better way to show our friend the wonders of the Evergreen Wood, and so I dared him…"

More jeering and more than a few flapping arms told Legolas that they were immersed in the story, and so he continued with mischievous relish.

"Now, we all know that dares in the Greenwood are not for the weak-hearted, and so I thought I would put our new comrade to the test, for we want no _weaklings_ here!" he said emphatically, as he took a swig of his wine as his lips curled upwards, enjoying the charade.

Now Melven remained quiet, and Elladan was trying his hardest to be sympathetic with his friend, but he kept snorting into his cup, which amplified the sound so that it was audible to all, including Melven, a situation that soon had the new recruits giggling nervously as they turned to stare at the commander, seeing him for the first time as a comrade rather than as a commander, a king.

"Well, I dared him to do as I did, _exactly_ – and that whatever I did, he must mirror it without hesitation – a test of trust, for I could very well have sent him to his death – I asked him to discard his senses, my friends, and that is no easy task."

"Out with it Hwindo – what the blazes did you do?" shouted Pengon, unable to reign in his enthusiasm, to which Legolas and the others laughed – except Melven of course.

"Well, it is like this," he said, gulping down more of the vintage, "we were, of course, both as naked as the day we were born, our bodies worked and anointed, massaged and pampered…"

"Ahh, Hwindo!" The noise level was rising with every sentence that Legolas uttered, which was, of course, his intention.

"I rose from the bed, and ran like the wind for the entrance to the Evergreen Wood, which most of you, of course, already know…"

"And Melven ran after you?" asked Lindo enthusiastically.

"That he did, Lindo. Nary a question, he simply accepted the challenge and dashed after me, as fast as his bare legs could carry him…"

"OOOoooh," they jeered, imagining the lovely Melven in all his naked glory, trying to keep up with Hwindo. Elladan was surprised to see the Bard Warrior slap at his comrades at their jeering, almost as if he felt possessive, which Elladan decided he probably was.

"Now, as you know, the hill at the opening that leads to the falls is steep indeed, and once momentum is caught, it cannot be stopped. Realizing this, our Melven began a _keening lament_, akin to the mating call of the brown wolf," he said poetically, waiting for the laughter to die down before he continued.

"On and on it went, waaaaaooooaaaaaooooo," he imitated as he rolled his eyes around. By now, The Company was in hysterics, and almost the entire inn was looking their way, most with an indulgent smile on their faces, even the recruits were hunched over each other, slapping each other on the backs.

"And then," he gasped, "seeing that the ground disappeared beneath his feet, the wail became the highest-pitched scream I have ever heard emitted by a male – of any species!"

And that was it; Pengon had slipped to the floor and Ram en' banged his fist on the wall behind him as a mortified Melven lent his forehead on the table, a clapping, wheezing Elladan behind him.

Even the recruits were gasping along with the rest of them, one of them, Beria, coughing desperately, the wine having gone down the wrong way.

Finally, after straightening their clothes, wiping the tears from their eyes, and in Pengon's case, seating himself once more, Legolas continued, although now, his tone was very different.

"You see, it was indeed very funny, yet my point in telling this tale is the following. Melven's unexpected jump off the cliff was no simple involuntary dive, it was a leap of faith, my friends. He believed that I would allow no harm to come to him, he trusted me with his life, and so I say Melven is brave and true, worthy indeed of the office he now trains for. Therefore, my friends, I announce that Melven Hadorion be known as such no more, for I have named him Glammohtar, the Screaming Warrior.

Melven's head had risen once more to hear the words that Legolas spoke. Glammohtar… Glamo, they would call him. It sounded good as long as you didn't know the origin of it, for it spoke of the terror he would strike into the hearts of the enemy… he smiled then as silence reigned around him, and The Company watched his face change from mortification to pleased satisfaction.

"I am… honoured, to hold this name, and to be a part of The Company – I hope that my adjustment training is satisfactory enough to be able to fulfill my duties with you, legendary warriors of the Greenwood."

And to his utter surprise, the whole inn cheered, for they had listened to every word that Legolas, and then Melven, had said.

"Glammohtar! Glammohtar!" they cheered, forcing Melven to his feet to bow gracefully to them all, a surprised yet thoroughly joyous expression on his face. Behind him, Lindo took his hand and squeezed it, bringing Melven's attention to his eyes. They beheld each other as the background noise faded somewhat, enough for Melven to hear Lindo's words.

"Glammohtar, it sounds deadly, frightening, 'tis a good name for a good elf," he smiled.

"Thank you – perhaps we can celebrate together later?"

Melven could not believe what he had just said – how had he had the cold blood to just come out with that? The Greenwood was affecting him, yet Lindo was beaming happily, his pearly white teeth visible behind his lovely pink lips.

"I would like that very much," he whispered.

…

The food was both hearty and abundant – the table covered with wooden bowls full of meats and stews, bread and vegetables, cheese and fruit, and of course, the wine which continued to flow, as the warriors conversed and ate, joked and reminisced.

Melven had had the best night of his life – he had made new friends, had been called brave, baptized with his new warrior name. He had laughed and conversed as equal to equal, _and_ he had a date.

Elladan too, had felt most comfortable, had come to know his new comrades and had laughed harder than he had in a long time, the only ingredient missing was the fact that he did not have a warrior name, and he realized with puerile indignation, that he wanted one.

…

They had effectively consumed the food and wine, and were all both pleasantly sated and slightly inebriated, enough to loosen tongues and inhibitions, and so it was, that conversation waxed poetic, turning to the recent loss of Imrathon, of his family and the grief of his young son. Elladan and Melven sat silently, listening respectfully to their words, observing their downturned brows and choked voices. During a lull in their conversation, Lindohtar, the Bard Warrior stood and began to sing.

His voice was a clear contralto, soft and emotive – then strong and soul-lifting. He sung a capella, no music to accompany him, and yet each note was perfectly entoned, the words clearly articulated. He sang of war and loss, love and honour, family and duty. It was a song of life in the forest, of their joy and their suffering, and the warriors' part in defense of all they held dear.

The inn had become silent once more as Lindo's sweet voice filled it, his audience still and pensive, listening to the words he projected with such deep emotion, reflecting on each of their faces.

The song came softly to an end, and curiously, there was no clapping, no overt sign of appreciation at all. Elladan supposed it was a sign of respect, similar to the songs and lays sang at funeral rites.

It was Koron en' who took the initiative then, standing and raising his almost depleted goblet, and in the process, completely breaking the solemn moment.

"And so I say to you, my brothers, that Imrahthon would want us to enjoy ourselves here, now, while we can, for he, now, would say '_My wine is all but gone, and my desire but awakening to the night. Who will follow me to Haven?'"_

"I," they all thundered as they stood and reached for their capes and gloves and pulling them on. Dima strode aside the five recruits, smiling at them, before clapping them on the backs. He received five rueful smiles in return. Well, they were still shy, but they had also come a long way, and the captain decided that he was satisfied, for the moment.

They moved as one towards the bar, where Lithônion bowed once more to them.

Once the bill had been settled, Legolas addressed the solicitous inn-keeper once more.

"Please invite all those present, in remembrance of the fallen," he said softly, to which Lithônion smiled kindly, before nodding, and taking the more than generous provision. It was not long before the entire inn flooded the bar, in search of their drink.

As the Company crossed the threshold once more and into the fresh evening breeze, they did so to the thundering salute of the many voices still inside.

"Imrathon, Himaethor, Luthohtar, Berthohtar, Raugohtar," the noise petered out, but a tear sprang to their eyes at the mention of their fallen friends, each one of them remembered by those they had sacrificed themselves for - friends they hoped they would one day encounter again, in Valinor, or beyond.

…

The night was pleasantly cool as The Company traversed a green field behind the inn. Elladan had imagined that Haven would be some kind of building, yet there was nothing of the sort to be seen, only a treeline some meters ahead. Koron en' leaned into him then, speaking softly.

"Haven is a wood, Elladan. 'Tis not a brothel, for these elves do not ask favours in return for sex. It is simply a place to share oneself, to give and receive pleasure in whichever shape or form takes ones fancy. There are dominant or submissive elves, groups that work together, lovers of bondage, of slapping, exhibitionism, everything you can imagine."

"But how will I know what each elf is interested in?" asked a wide-eyed Elladan.

"Each elf is dressed such that you should be able to guess, yet if you are unsure, you should ask, lest you hurt someone's feelings."

Taking a deep breath, Elladan nodded as they finally stepped into the wood, The Company beginning to break up. They had two hours before regrouping at the stables for the ride back – two hours that would stay with the Noldorin lieutenants for the rest of their lives.

Elladan could see Melven walking away with Lindo, the Sylvan's arm wrapped around Melven's middle, and soon enough, Elladan found himself alone. He walked slowly, taking in the sights around him. Just ahead of him, he began to make out figures that stood still, watching him….


	10. Endurance

Chapter 10: Endurance

The journey back to the fortress seemed to Legolas to be quicker than their outward ride had been. He thought of tomorrow and the duties he had, for the recruits would be trained, albeit a little later than usual. After, he would meet with his uncle for an update on the field detachments and any engagements there had been, and perhaps he would find the time to write – to Glorfindel, Elrond, Erestor – Arwen.

The rest of the Company smiled dreamily, remembering the night of passion they had spent. Lindo and Melven rode together, they had obviously done it, thought Elladan, yet he wondered at the nature of it. He was not sure that this was love – yes, the attraction was mutual, but was that all there was? He knew not, and so he would observe. He thought then, that Gal had been right, for Haven was indeed exotic. He had been witness to the most imaginative of scenes there in the woods – women with women, men with men, masters and slaves, toys and players from all walks of life, a fascinating place he would be sure to visit again, like Love Lake, his first experience in Sylvan entertainment, yet less 'innocent'.

The gates whined and clattered as they were opened, just enough for The Company to ride through in single file, and receive a friendly salute and an indulgent smile from the guards.

The group soon disappeared into the barracks, Glammohtar with them, laughing and joking about their escapade in hushed tones so as not to bother their comrades, yet Elladan had stayed to accompany Legolas.

"It was a good night, Legolas."

"Aye, so it was," he answered, wondering if Elladan had stayed to speak on something personal.

"Can I escort you back to the fortress?"

"Of course," he replied, somewhat surprised at the offer, "yet remember you have a challenging day before you tomorrow!"

"I know, yet I also have a letter to write, to my father."

"Ah, I see. I had also thought to write tomorrow," said Legolas softly. "Your father has written then?" he asked good-naturedly, although Elladan was sure he had detected an undercurrent of surprise, perhaps because he had not received a letter himself.

"I received his letter yesterday," he said, as they began to walk back to the fortress. "He has written to many here, you included," he said, watching Legolas with a placid smile on his face.

His visage lifted visibly, his skin smoothing out in obvious relief. "I am glad, I look forward to reading his news," he said. They had never spoken openly about his relationship with Elladan's father, and Legolas now realized that this was the reason that his friend had wanted to accompany him. It was a good move, he thought, for it was the only issue that divided them, and that was never a good thing in the situation in which they would both soon find themselves in, indeed had he not done the very same thing with Melven?

"Does it worry you? This relationship?"

"Nay, Legolas. Yet I admit I know not the nature of it, for you are with Glorfindel, yet both my father and Erestor speak of you as their lover, and I do not get the impression they regard you as a casual lover – I mean they speak of you as they would a stable partner. I would disapprove if I thought that you could harm him in any way, for he has already suffered too much in love, my friend."

They had reached Legolas' suite. Opening the door, Legolas ushered Elladan inside as he poured a glass of wine, before sitting before the fire, handing his friend a goblet.

"It will not be I who hurts your father, Elladan – never that. And as to the nature of it, that is a difficult question, yet I would like to elucidate, for you already know I hold you as a good friend, I want you to understand – if I can explain myself, that is."

"Then I am listening."

"It was that first gala, at the opening of the Spring Festival. Glorfindel and I had not spoken of our mutual attraction, and Elrond had taken it upon himself to invite me for a 'nightcap'. Suffice it to say that the night was – memorable," he smiled off into the distance, taking a delicate sip of wine.

From then onwards, we took advantage of every night we could to be together, the four of us, and during that time I came to know my destiny, about which I have not spoken to you, for it is a delicate subject, one that requires utter secrecy.

Elladan held his gaze then, watching as the flames reflected off his brilliant green irises, strange that he could actually see the colour in such bad light.

"I understand if you cannot tell me…" said Elladan sincerely. Truth be told he wanted nothing more than for Legolas to reveal the secret, yet he meant what he said.

Legolas sipped his wine as he considered the dangers of revealing his future. He knew Elladan observed him, and so he decided to ask his own questions.

"You saw what happened in the gardens of Imladris, that first day I met your sister – what did you make of that?" he challenged, meeting Elladan's intense gaze.

"I – deduced that something, transcendental had occurred, yet she called you 'my King', as you called her 'my Queen', and of that I do not know what to make.

"Um," he sighed. "There is nothing sexual between us, Elladan. I know that Arwen desires me, and Elbereth knows that if I were not her father's lover, I would not have hesitated – but I cannot, for there is something that tells me I cannot, _should_ not have her – and yet something strong binds me to her – destiny mayhap," he concluded, looking into the flames as Elladan continued to watch him.

"There is something that binds our futures together, and this feeling is the same one I share with your father, only _with_ the sex," he said nonchalantly.

"What do you think it is – this shared future?"

"I think, perhaps, that Elrond will have much to say when the Dark One finally rears his head, and that I am a key player, so to speak, as, I believe, is Arwen. This is what ties me to your family, I feel a deep affinity with Elrond, as I do with Arwen, strangely enough," he murmured then, "for we have spoken but a few words, she and I, and yet, now that I think on it, your mother… I do not know what it is, Elladan, but when I left Imladris, I found myself alone, staring at her portrait, she touched me deeply, it is… absurd, and yet it is so."

Elladan was, by now, fascinated by Legolas' thoughts and insights, and it showed, for he stared intensely at Legolas' profile as he narrated, and still now, once he had stopped. His grey eyes shone brightly, and an odd expression had come over his lordly face.

"I am – taken aback, my friend. Your words are strange, and yet I do not doubt them – a riddle, is it not? For what you are saying is that this is all to do with destiny – something you, Arwen and my father will do in the future, something that concerns Mithrandir also, from what I can tell."

"Yes," said Legolas, somewhat surprised, "you have synthesized it well, for that is the essence of it."

"Then I am glad we spoke, my friend. I will not speak of this to anyone, you have my word."

Legolas simply smiled. He liked this elf very much, every day a little more. He was wise and kind, empathic yet not to the point of absurd justifications, he was handsome – like his father, and showed great potential as a warrior. He decided then, that Elladan would become an important person in his life, had already done so.

Indeed Legolas' thoughts were mirrored by Elladan. He was relieved at what Legolas had confided in him, and intrigued, of course. Yavanna had chosen well, and so had his father.

As he returned to the barracks, his mind retrieved the words his father had penned to him. He had asked Elladan to help Legolas, if he could, saying that his heart was compromised. Elladan had no idea of what he spoke, for Legolas was nothing if not strong – he was certainly not broken – still, his father was wise and Elladan knew that he was missing something. He would do just that, watch him, for Legolas was now a friend – a good friend, and strange as it may seem, he felt an affinity with him that seemed disproportionate to the time they had spent together. Could it be that he, too, felt the pull of destiny? that his own was tied up to the convoluted impressions that Legolas had exposed moments before?

…

Training had started late today, courtesy of the commander after their night out at Imderen.

They had ran in nothing but leggings and boots for over two hours, yet it had not been a steady trot, but an up and down run through fields and copses, the constant change of terrain taking a harsh toll on the legs.

Elladan and Melven now enjoyed a brief rest for water and to replenish their lungs with oxygen. Barathon sauntered over to them then, joining the two recuperating warriors, who stood together in amiable silence.

"Well now, how was your first night out with the 'lads'?" he asked, his tone one of sarcasm and disdain, one that both Noldo picked up on immediately. And so Elladan answered him in no uncertain terms.

"Oh very good, my Lord. For we ate and drank, sang and reminisced, and fucked long into the night – it was truly a most entertaining evening."

"You are impertinent, Noldo."

"I apologize, my Lord, for that was not my intention, yet I _was_ surprised that you did not accompany us," added Elladan, for he loathed this elf with a passion, yet he would not stoop to outright insult, as he knew Barathon would.

"I chose not to, Noldo, for I do not court whores in the woods, 'tis distasteful, and unfitting of royalty."

"You judge your Prince and King then, my Lord?" asked Elladan, his tone low and menacing.

Barathon gave himself away, for he inhaled noisily through the nose – he had been outwitted and now needed a way out of the hole he had dug for himself.

"I said no such thing, now return to your work, Noldo, for Elbereth knows you need it," he sneered, raking his eyes over Elladan's bare torso.

Pengon appeared silently behind the obnoxious Sindar, making the mule jump visibly as he spoke into his ear.

"You speak to a lieutenant, your superior. Apologize immediately."

"And I am prince, lieutenant, you overstep your boundaries," he said agitatedly as he whirled around to face Pengon.

"_Here_, on the training field, or on the battlefield, you adhere solely to military rank. This you know yet choose to ignore, taking me for a fool in the process. Apologize to your superiors or I will report you anon."

Barathon held his gaze, yet after a few long seconds, he looked down. He knew Pengon was right, his lordship held no importance here and so, against his better judgment, he nodded to Elladan and to Pengon.

"I apologize," he said, his tone far from matching the words, as he strode off to the sidelines. Pengon spared a glance at Elladan, who was watching the royal prince strut away.

"Do you wish to report him, Elladan?" asked Pengon.

"No, Pengon, but I thank you for caring."

"You are most very welcome, Elrondion." He said, smiling as he nodded and turned to join his comrades.

The Company approached the recruits then, clad only in leggings and boots, and their myriad of armbands that covered their right arms from wrist to bicep.

Glammo was struck then by how fit these elves were – for they were bulkier than the average warrior, yet their muscles were as defined as any expert archer. Legolas especially, was gifted with the most spectacular of bodies, something he had already witnessed at Finlond. He sported a small scar on his left side and remembered the arrow he had taken not so long ago in Imladris, defending his boy from the orcs. Ram en' also had an ugly scar over his left shoulder – the battle stories these elves had would be well worthy of hearing.

Two pits of hay had been set up on the far side of the green where they now awaited the next step in their training.

Legolas sauntered over to Elladan, observing him as he did so. His friend had a strong body, well-muscled yet under-defined. He would have to work him hard but the potential was definitely there, it would be an interesting challenge, for he thought that Elladan could possibly become one of the best, and now was his first chance to see just how quickly he could learn a new skill, the skill of dodging arrows, of disorientating your enemy, what The Company now referred to as 'aerial work'.

"Elladan. Tell me, do you have any training in aerial work?"

"Uh, no, none whatsoever, Commander."

"Alright. We will start with a simple head stand. Stand on your arms, steady yourself with your feet and then pull your legs up with your abdominal muscles – I will help you."

Placing his hands firmly on the ground, he found his balance, then tried and failed to pull his legs up with his stomach muscles, needing to bend his knees until he finally stood in a wobbly headstand, maintaining himself aloft thanks only to Legolas' steadying arms holding his shins.

"Stretch your arms to their limits, concentrate on balance, clear your mind of all else – find equilibrium. Feel how your abdomen controls your legs," he instructed as he let go of Elladan's legs, yet maintained his hands at the ready.

"That's it – stay aloft for as long as you can, remember, think only on equilibrium, let nothing distract you – compensate and balance…"

All around them, the others were performing the same exercise, yet the uffs and aghs were constant, as the pupils lost their balance and crumpled to the ground, only to try again, yet Elladan had not fallen since his first attempt, and was indeed, still aloft, his wavering legs becoming more and more steady as Elladan began to control his body more effectively. Legolas smiled then, for he had been right, he was a quick learner.

"Bend your legs until your feet touch the ground and maintain the stance."

Elladan obeyed, as his muscles trembled violently at the effort they had made to lower his legs straight down, without bending at the knee as he had done at the beginning.

"Now take the weight from your arms to your feet – control is the key factor, Elladan, slow and precise movements, until you are standing before me one more."

Of course the slower the movement, the more demanding on the body, but Elladan would not be beaten so easily, and to his own, utter surprise, he now stood before Legolas once more, who was beaming at him.

"That was an excellent start, Lieutenant."

Elladan dipped his head slightly and smiled. "Thank you, Commander."

"Now, let us do it together, no help this time. Watch me and imitate."

Melven, meanwhile, had crumpled to the ground for the third time, although he had been able to stay aloft a little longer this time.

"Rest, Lieutenant, and drink," urged Lindo, handing the panting Melven a cup of water. As he drank, his eyes strayed to Elladan and opened wide, for he stood on his arms, nary a wobble of arm or leg, Legolas beside him in exactly the same position. Lindo followed his gaze and smiled.

"Elladan is learning fast."

"Aye," replied Melven. Would that I were as skilled, for my backside is already aching from so many failed attempts."

"Well, perhaps I can help you with that later," said Lindo saucily, to which Melven smiled before depositing the cup and starting again.

Legolas watched Elladan from his upside down position. Deciding to work his muscles a little more, he opened his legs to the side, keeping them straight, watching as Elladan imitated him. It was a wobbly move, but he kept his balance, and so Legolas continued, pulling his legs back together, and then dropping them almost to the ground, maintaining them in the air and the entire weight of his body upon his arms. Elladan was almost successful, but as his legs fell further towards the ground, his body became unbalanced, and for the first time that day, fell spectacularly onto his backside, the impact shuddering through his entire body and bringing a boyish scowl to his face.

Legolas righted himself and walked over to him, offering him a hand and pulling him up.

"Come," was all he said as he moved over to one of the hay pits. "I want you to run, and when you get to this point," he gestured to a marker a few meters before the hay, "you jump and summersault forward, landing on your feet. Watch me first, then ask your questions, I will repeat the move if need be."

And with that, Legolas walked away from him, turned, then ran, yet not to fast. When he reached the marker, he jumped, turned over himself and landed on one foot, enabling him to continue his run. It looked so simple, so elegant, yet Elladan knew it was not easy – he could already see himself face down in the hay, a bruised nose and a smarting cheek.

"Questions?"

"No."

"Then do it!" ordered Legolas emphatically.

Moving to the point where he would start his run, he took a moment to breathe deeply and clear his mind, as Legolas had taught him. It was all a question of confidence he knew, and so he stole himself for the impact and began his run. Arriving at the marker, he propelled himself into the air and promptly landed on his already bruised backside with a whoosh.

"Legolas peered down at him and explained. Not enough height to get your legs back under you. Try again, jump higher."

And so he did, this time landing on both feet and falling forwards. It took the best part of two hours to get the move right, much to the joy of his instructor, who had whooped and slapped him on the back.

"You see, Elladan, this move can be used for an infinity of things. Imagine a charge on foot, swords. You have a massive Uruk or a warg before you with little chance of matching its strength, you can run and jump over it, killing it from behind, for the element of surprise will be its downfall. Shall we try it?"

"Alright," said Elladan enthusiastically, eager to see how the move would be put into practice.

Now facing each other some distance away, both held a practice sword and were running towards each other, the other pupils watching. Once Legolas was at a few meters from Elladan, he used the move, landing behind Elladan, now standing back to back with him. All it took was to thrust his sword backwards, its tip rendering Elladan completely still. When Elladan turned, he did so to find Legolas with his back to him, he had 'stabbed' him without looking.

"If you take the time to turn you may lose your advantage, but you could turn and kill from the front, depending on how fast your opponent is. Do you want to try?"

"I want to, yes! But I fear I cannot jump high enough or gauge the spot from which I should jump."

"Don't worry about that, I will avoid you."

"Alright," he smiled, as they trotted away once more.

As Elladan jumped into the air, Legolas ducked, lest he find Elladan's boot in his mouth, and there it was, the feel of blunt wood against his naked back. Turning, Legolas smiled at Elladan's back, watching as he slowly turned round to face him, a look of utter awe on his face.

"I did it – the jump was too low, but I did it!"

"Yes," beamed Legolas – "you will be good, Elladan, you will be very good."

….

And so it was that for the next two weeks, Elladan, Melven, Barathon and the other five recruits would run for two hours after breakfast every morning together with The Company. They would jog and then forward summersault, jump up onto a branch, only to launch themselves back to the ground. Elladan's muscles were becoming more defined, his body more agile, stronger, capable of endurance he would never have imagined. He felt invigoured, powerful, and he wanted more.

Both Elladan and Melven had received training on the various bird calls that were used by The Company to communicate, when spoken language was not an option and had also been instructed in their complex hand signals. Archery had also been high on the list of priorities and both had acquitted themselves more than satisfactorily. There were other aspects of their training that had proved to be more – traumatic, for they had learned of the standard interrogation techniques the orcs used against captured warriors. They learned how to get their hands out of ropes and chains, how to run without the use of your arms. Finally, the other warriors had taught them to perform the salute they had first seen during the Spring Festival, and again upon Legolas' return to the woods.

Every night, Gal had visited his lover in his small room at the barracks. They would bath together, and then Gal would soothe his sore muscles. Similarly, Melven was tended to by his devoted tutor, Lindo, who took relish in easing his aches and pains.

….

Now, on the last day of their training, there was just one more skill they needed to hone – moving through the trees.

They had been practicing the moves for two days now, and it had proven to be the hardest part of their training so far, for Melven had slipped to the forest floor three times, and was bruised almost from head to foot. Elladan likewise, had grazed arms and legs, bruised his head and sides as he had collided with branch and twig, and yet, that jump – grasp - pull up move eluded them both.

Legolas stood conversing with Ram en', Pengon and Idhreno when a sudden, screaming warning came to him with enough forewarning for him to turn and gasp, before feeling the impact of a booted foot smash full force into his face, stealing his breathe before rendering him half senseless and sending him to the forest floor, his hair flung over his face as his legs battled to push himself backwards, seeking the solid presence of wood against his back, and finding it. His three companions simply stood, stupefied for a moment for it had been so quick.

Legolas felt a cool hand on his head as he heard others shout in dismay, their words lost on him as he began to register the agony that had retardedly exploded in his left cheek. It hurt, a lot, yet he could not think, for his brain flip-flopped inside his skull, his eyes incapable of fixing their gaze on anything as his stomach turned and all colour was lost to his face.

More shouting, and then silence. Another hand, this time pushing his hair from his face, a friendly murmur his brain could not quite register. Another voice, this time perfectly interpreted.

"Legolas, hear me."

The voice was strong, and commanding, clearly enunciated. He somehow managed to emit a sound, not a word, mind you, a gasp of sorts that served to relax the one that held his hand over his cheek.

"Legolas, can you hear me?"

"Yes," he whispered.

His head spun viciously, he could not focus, his ears rang, and all he could see was mist. And there was the hand again, upon his throbbing cheek, anchoring him to reality.

"Ram en', Pengon, fetch me that bucket of water, and find a cloth of some sorts, please."

Something in this elf's voice bade them obey, for although they were equal in rank, neither had doubted his words, it seemed somehow natural for them to obey him, and so they trotted to where the bucket lay and returned to place it by the healer's side, as Pengon handed him a wad of soft cloth. Dipping it into the water, the healer placed it over the entire side of the commander's face, eliciting a long hiss from the wretched elf.

After a few minutes, Legolas finally righted himself, now sitting back against the trunk, his legs out before him, eyes closed.

"What happened?" he croaked as he brought his hand up to keep the cloth in place.

"Elladan here came crashing out of the tree uncontrollably, feet first – he could have hurt himself had it not been for your face, Hwindo," said Ram en' softly.

"You slipped on the branch then?" said Legolas somewhat strangely, for it hurt to move his face, even his lips as he tried and failed to keep his face muscles still.

"I did, my feet slipped from under me, I had no time to reach out and anchor myself – I am so sorry, my friend."

"You veritably flew through the branches, Elladan. Had I not seen your bare torso, I would say you have wings, my friend," said Koron en'.

Pengon's head whipped round to look at Ball of Fire, and then he smiled, for although the situation did not merit it, it had been _he_ who had finally discovered Elladan's warrior name.

"What is it? What did I say?" asked Koron en'.

"It is what you _didn't _say," smiled Pengon mysteriously.

That earned him a puzzled look from the rest of The Company, all except for Elladan who was not listening, and Legolas who was trying not to move his face. He felt a little better, his head did not spin so much and his eyes were beginning to focus, yet he was still seeing two Elladans.

"Legolas," began Elladan again, "look at me," he ordered. Hwindo tried to focus on his friend's fuzzy face, but he could not quite define the edges of the image.

"What do you see, my friend?"

"Two of you," he murmured again.

"Come, I will accompany you to Antien, for this needs attention," he stated as he rose and held his hand down to Legolas.

"Just, get me back to the barracks, I will stay there for a while – can you take care of it?" he asked, his face now red and puffy.

"Alright, but I will need supplies from the healers, come then," he said, helping his friend up and walking slowly to the barracks. Elladan knew it was to avoid the comments he would get if he tried to get back to his rooms at the fortress, and Elladan did not blame him for that. Besides, he had some redeeming to do.

….


	11. The Winged Warrior

CHAPTER 11: The Winged Warrior

The following morning, Legolas awoke to a massive headache. He made his sorry way to the bathing chamber and drew a bath, leaving the door open lest he take too long and Elladan kick it down.

Legolas had not wanted to admit it, but he felt atrocious. His face throbbed with a vengeance, his nose a pulsing, agonizing reminder of the almighty impact of Elladan's armoured boot in his face.

Extracting himself from the bath and dressing in a house skirt, he walked cautiously into the bed chamber.

Elladan sat there, his trained eye observing the gait, the outstretched right arm, reaching for nothing. He was not fooled, but neither would he fuss, for it would irk his friend, he knew, and so he simply sat there, in case he was needed, making conversation to distract him from his agony.

"What time is our briefing today?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"After breakfast," was all Legolas managed, for truth be told he was not hungry at all, but he knew he would have to face the troops today, and so he would perhaps take a mint tea and just get it over with.

Finally dressed in his uniform, he strode into the corridor, Elladan at his side. The commander's stride was now strong and energetic, and Elladan knew he did it purposefully so as not to garner anyone's pity.

As was customary, the noise ceased as Legolas entered the dining room, the troops standing and bowing, before sitting once more and resuming their chatter, only this time it was spotted with the odd harsh intake of breath, interjections of sympathy for the obviously painful bruise.

Sitting at the table together with The Company, they began their repast before the strange spectacle of Legolas sipping tea, instead of piling his plate to the brim. The scene brought a miserable wave of guilt over Elladan, for he was responsible, he and his rebellious hoof.

….

The briefing lasted the entire morning, with Dima and Pengon doing most of the talking. They had discussed their route before a large map spread over a round table. They had explained to the new recruits which areas would be conflictive, where the various villages would be and what dangers they should expect.

They would visit two villages, one far to the south, the first to be found just before the realm of Dol Guldur; the other lay towards the central parts of the wood. The villagers were stubborn, for they would not leave, even though they had suffered various raids in the last few years, and lost a good number of their members. They were Avari for the most part, conservationists desperately trying to maintain the health of the forest they inhabited. It was a losing battle, yet they refused to abandon it, and so Legolas had promised to visit them at least twice a year to carry out dissuasive action in the hope that the orcs would refrain from attacking.

The result was, that they would ride out for a whole week, due south, visit both villages, speak to their leaders and then carry out their patrol of the areas, making their presence known to the enemy – another week - and then the ride back. If everything went to plan, they would be away for three or four weeks.

Elladan realized then, that Barathon was not present at the briefing, and there were three missing from the close-knit group of five. It had been Pengon who had elucidated. Three of them had been placed on standby, to ride out on their next mission, for one had failed on tactics, the other two had been hard pressed under the duress of interrogation. The prince had also been excluded from the mission on the grounds that he should improve his "interpersonal relations." Pengon had smiled slyly, leaving an equally relieved Elladan, for the thought of riding out for the first time with that thorn in his side had not been appetizing at all.

The rest of the day was for kitting out, after which each warrior would be free to attend to his own personal preparation. Each carried a first-aid kit in their pack, although Elladan carried the bulk of the healing supplies, having been named their official healer. He would be sure to take antidotes for the toxins they were aware of, and of course for the spiders. He would also seek out Antien and ask him about what he should expect.

Melven had gone with the other two recruits, together with Lindo and Idrenho to pick up their supplies, and Elladan now found himself walking back to the barracks, his shoulder laden with a pack that oozed with the supplies that Antien told him he would need - _where_ he was going to put it he knew not. A vision came to him of a squirrel packing acorns into its bulging cheeks and he laughed to himself.

He flung it onto his bed, deciding he would pack later, but right now, he wanted a hot bath, relax and put his thoughts into perspective, and so he stripped, donned a house skirt, and walked to the baths.

To his surprise, he was met by the entire company, save for their commander and the two recruits. They sat there soaking as they talked quietly.

"Elladan, come, join us," said Idhreno softly.

"I know not that I am worthy of your company this day."

"You are worthy, Elladan," said Ram en' carefully. "What happened yesterday was an unfortunate accident, nothing more. You have more than redeemed yourself by caring for him. You are a part of us now – you _are_ worthy. Besides, I cannot begin to tell you how many times Hwindo has been kicked in the face, 'tis nothing new."

It brought a tear to Elladan's eye, this loyalty they already professed for him. They trusted him, he realized, yet they had not once fought together, shared anything transcendental at all. And so he undressed and entered the hot water, leaning back onto the cool stone, tilting his head back and closing his eyes, feeling strangely comfortable in their midst.

"'Tis quite a kick you have, Elladan," said Nanern, the typical intonation of story-telling beginning to colour his voice, "akin to an infant troll, perhaps, or a female warg…the way you _flew_ from the branches, hair streaming behind you, the blue highlights glinting under the midday sun, armoured boots poised before 32your generously appointed body, why you seemed as an angel to my eyes, an avenging angel…" he concluded, as if reciting a poem from the first age.

Koron en' snorted then, adding his own impressions. "You omit the panicked expression as our lord's face approached his oddly angled feet, the high-pitched squeal of surprise as realization hit and there would be no avoiding the mighty blow, the whoosh of air as he collided first with beauty and then with earth, 'twas no angel, Nanern, but a Noldorin warrior with wings!"

"I was right then!" exclaimed Pengon, demanding their attention now. For as I said yesterday, Koron en', it is not _what_ you said but what you _didn't _– you see, Elladan shall be called such no more, for I have baptized him, on this the eve of the first ride of the Noldor…"

"Tell us!" shouted Nanern who sat next to an avid Ram en'.

"I, Pengon, Arrow Elf, do declare that Elladan Elrondion be known as Rhafnohtar, for he is the Winged Warrior!"

Now it was Elladan whose head whipped around to look at Pengon. 'Rhafnohtar?' it sounded good, as long as you did not know the story behind it. And so he decided that he was happy with it, 'at last!' he exclaimed to himself, and smiled boyishly, his teeth glinting behind his upturned lips.

…

Tomorrow, at dawn, they would ride, and three elves now lay on their beds, in their respective rooms, all of them pensive, their thoughts far away in Imladris.

It was early evening, and Legolas had retired to his rooms at the fortress; later he would visit with his father, Aradan and his brother, but now, now was for quiet contemplation, as the face of his Gondolidrim lover came to his mind's eye, a placid smile on his ageless, beautiful face.

Melven and Elladan had taken a light dinner before retiring to the barracks to prepare their packs for tomorrow; the Noldor were restless, for tomorrow, they would finally begin their service to the Greenwood, venturing into unknown lands, living new experiences, putting into practice the weeks of arduous training they had endured. They would finally face the enemy, perhaps even spiders, Uruk Hai, or wraiths, Elbereth forbid.

Elladan lay on his side, his hand propping up his head as his straight dark hair trailed across the white sheets. A parchment lay before him, one of many he had managed to complete in the last hour, for he was inspired.

This last one was to his father. He had written of his life since his last letter, of his training, his nascent friendship with Legolas. He had also told him that although he had, indeed, watched Legolas, he could see no evidence of a troubled heart. And then there was his relationship with Galdithion. He would save the details for when next they met, but he knew he should give his father the news – it would please him, yet the relationship was still fresh and he did not want to kindle false hope. He was still unsure of the depth of Galdithion's feelings for him, and so he would tell his father that there was a mutual attraction, but nothing more.

In his letter to Glorfindel, he had also told him of the great friendship that was blossoming between Legolas and himself, and of the training he had endured, something he knew the general would be intrigued with, for the methods had been essentially from Gondolin, it was what set The Company apart from the rest of the Greenwood militia.

The other, now sealed parchments were destined for Lothlorien – Arwen Elrondiel, Galadriel, Celeborn, Haldir, Rumil, Orophin…he had never written so many letters in so little time, and the truth was that the words had flowed, for he felt the irrepressible need to put to paper his thoughts that evening, he felt somehow that he was on the cusp of something new, as if he was living the final moments of one life, only to step into a new one.

Melven, for his part, pondered the last letter he had received from his bonded mate. She had responded to his first letter somewhat coolly. He had been disappointed, although once he had thought about it, he decided that he had been deluding himself. She was not impressed it seemed, at what he had achieved, gave no indication that she felt proud of him, yet there was nothing new in that – she had always been that way, yet Melven had hoped that the distance between them would have mellowed her, alas it had not. He had been right to take this step, here was the proof of it, for Melven had thrived in her absence, and suffered once more when she came to the fore. Once the exchange program came to an end, he would have to face the truth, and be consequent with it. It saddened him and it elicited a deep sigh, before another feeling, one of closure came upon him suddenly, and he smiled fondly.

He would reply to her, and include a letter for his young son. He would subtly introduce the idea of separation, tell her that _he_ was proud of _himself,_ even though she saw no reason for him to be so. He needed her to understand his disappointment, for when the time came, he did not want it to be a surprise for her. The very thought of returning to his life with her in Imladris suddenly seemed absurd to him. His only worry was his son…for what if she decided to sail? And yet it seemed unlikely to him, for he could not see her leading a life of peace and contemplation, she was too ambitious for that.

…..

Galdithion had been granted leave for the rest of the evening, and so he made his way straight to the field warrior barracks, knocking quietly on Elladan's open door. He stepped inside, spying his lover lying on his side, watching him as he sauntered in and sat on the bed beside him.

"Come with me?" he asked, as he placed the palm of his hand over Elladan's smooth cheek.

Galdithion led him to a glade just a few minutes' walk away. It was secluded enough, especially at this time of the evening, and Galdithion would waste none of it, for he had much to do and say.

Elladan turned to face his lover then, and was struck with his beauty as he stood tall and proud, beautiful under the light of the full moon. His face was full of love, yet it was laced with anxiety and dread.

Elladan approached him, caressed his face, and kissed him softly, watching as his lovers' eyes closed in joy.

"Love me, here under the open skies of Greenwood," murmured Elladan softly, watching as Galdithion's eyes opened and focused on his own, the pupils dilated.

"Elladan, I – I am falling, I tried, I tried to stop it, or at least temper it, but I have failed, I have failed most miserably – for I love you, and that is the truth."

Elladan listened to him as his lover stammered out the words that had obviously been so difficult to say. He said he had tried to stop it, or slow it down – why? for there was nothing standing in their way, save Elladan's station in Imladris …

"Then I am glad of your failure, I _rejoice_ in it," he whispered. "You have failed, and I am yours," he whispered again as he stared into the lovely blue eyes, watching as they widened at his words, as they grew brighter and his lips quivered with emotion.

They moved together then, joining in professed love, for although Elladan would venture into the south come the morning, they two, would be parted no more.

….

"I have updated my legacy chest, father, and I have refused Barathon once more."

"What was it this time?" asked Lainion as he reclined on the sofa in Thranduil's rooms.

"He cannot submit to his superiors, he even struggles with the concept. He questions when the time is not right. Elladan said nothing, but my cousin was most rude to him upon the training field, and even defied Pengon when he was caught. And then he is simply a mediocre warrior, he is not good enough, Lainion - he would be massacred all too soon.

"You know our predicament, my Son," explained Thranduil, as he gestured to Aradan, "perhaps next time then?"

"If he can show respect to his superiors, then I promise you it will be so, even though I and the others will eventually have to cover for him."

"Alright, 'tis enough for us to justify at council," he smirked briefly at his chief councilor, before his face fell back into a neutral mask.

"And pray tell us, my Son, what is _– this_?" he asked, gesturing to his son's bruised cheek.

"Ah, yes, I was hoping you wouldn't notice…"

Lainion snorted, for it had been funny – half of his brother's face was a pulsing mass of purple flesh, and Lainion could have sworn he had been kicked in the face.

"Well?" asked the king, smirking at his son's now obvious discomfort.

"The dangers of the training field, my King. An innocent slip of the foot," he said, waving his hand in the air to lend an air of insignificance to the event.

"Indeed," drawled Lainion, before changing the subject to one he had been meaning to ask for a long time now.

"Will you tell us of you and Glorfindel, Brother? asked Lainion. We have interrogated Aradan here, but he has shown utmost loyalty and has offered us no satisfaction," he emphasized, refilling his cup as he leaned forward, staring at his brother defiantly.

"You are an old gossip, Lainion," said Legolas, turning purposefully and nodding at his father's councilor. What would you have me tell you, Elbereth!" he chuckled. "Do you wish for the sordid details, then?"

"Nay, yet we talk of _Glorfindel_, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, for the sake of the Valar, Legolas. I am unsure as to Thranduil's thoughts on this matter, but I am sincerely impressed with your conquest, Brother. 'Tis a wonderful match in my and my people's opinion – they call him '_Golden Sacrifice'_."

Thranduil sat silently, shrewdly letting the scene advance before he participated, for Legolas would feel pressured – better that Lainion ask playfully – the truth would flow better that way, for he knew his son well, yet he was more anxious than any to hear the tale.

"Then fill my glass and I will indulge you!" he exclaimed, curiously pleased with this turn in the conversation, for he could relive those wonderful moments and take his mind far away from what tomorrow would bring.

By the time he had finished the tale, the moon had disappeared below the horizon, the night at its darkest. The four sat silently before the crackling fire, well into their cups, yet pleasantly so.

Thranduil had listened attentively to every word, every phrase and its intonation, every gesture that accompanied them, and he knew that what his son had with the legendary, twice-born warrior of Gondolin, was love. He longed then, to meet him once more, to come to know him, to welcome him into his own life as another son, for this elf would give Legolas peace and balance, would give some hope to Thranduil that he would not succumb to the madness that evil brought with it, would not break – something the king knew would eventually happen, as a logical consequence of what he endured. He would face it again tomorrow, for his son would be gone once more come the morn, and a piece of himself would traverse the forests with him. He would come back wounded, both bodily and spiritually, and then he would hide it all and start again – it was always the same, and even so, slowly but surely, they were losing the southern reaches of the Greenwood – green no more but a blackened, leafless shadow of the vibrant forest that once was, and his son's heart would be a little harder, a little darker, the lingering shadow slowly but surely descending upon him like a cloak of black silk.

He turned his eyes from the fire to his son, startling somewhat to find he was watching him. It seemed to Thranduil that his son had read his thoughts, for his face was one of understanding and resignation.

"The elves of the Greenwood will fight until there are no more trees left. Even if it is only time we gain, then it is enough, so long as that time is used to rejoice, and to love, for if we do not, then what is life for? Life is but time, to use as we will…"

All three stared at Legolas, who had spoken as one far away, his eyes had turned glassy, his eyes lost in visual imagination.

"You are right, sweet brother. You are Avarin at heart, and I love you dearly – so then ride out tomorrow, _kill_ them all, and come back safe and hail to your family once more – make us proud one more time."

Thranduil rose then, followed by Aradan and Lainion. They came together, embracing for the last time before their son, their brother, their commander, would once more ride into darkness, taking the cream of Greenwood's warriors with him into Hell, and hopefully, back.

…

Legolas strolled down the pathway, bound now for the barracks and a few hours sleep, before dawn would see him ride away once more; the alcohol had dulled the pain of his smarting cheek, which was now a distant throb, and for the first time, it felt better than it looked.

The shrill cry of a carrier hawk split the peaceful silence of the night then, its wings flapping so close now, that the tips of his hair undulated. It finally came to rest on a nearby branch, its talon sporting a long string, at the end of which was tied a small square parchment.

Legolas plucked it from the carrier, stroking the falcon's smooth, feathery forehead in thanks, before turning to the precious parcel in his hands, for he had recognized the seal of Gondolin.

He sat under the tree as he peeled back the folds until the tengwar was revealed.

_So many times have I told you that I love you, and yet 'tis still not enough, insufficient to express the depth of my feelings unto you…_

Legolas smiled, so much so that it hurt his bruised cheek, yet it mattered not, for to read his lover's words was nothing short of paradise, and so he continued to read avidly.

_I have much to tell you. Llyn has made a place for herself beside us – she is a wonderful elf, giving, intelligent - and Henian has become a good friend to me. He is a most able warrior and has ridden with the Imladris patrols many times now, earning the respect of all…_

Legolas knew that this would be so, for he was one of the best field captains in the Greenwood militia.

_And yet, for all that life here is peaceful, save for the odd skirmish, my body yearns for your presence – there will be no peace for me until I see you again…perhaps when Elladan and Melven finish their exchange, you could accompany them back, and if not, then perhaps I can visit to escort them – I know not how we can achieve it, only that it is achievable, and so one more year, perhaps._

One more year, thought Legolas. He told himself that he could do it, for he _had_ done for over a thousand years. What was one more attack? One more ambush? One more weeping child? One more dead warrior… and yet this was his purpose, and so he would endure - at least now, he had something of his own to fight for, to give him hope for a future without the constant warfare, the constant heartache of loss.

Tilting his head down to the parchment once more, he read the final words his love had penned to him.

"_And after that year, I will see you once more – safe and sound – wrap you in my arms and be parted no more."_

That night, Legolas lay his good cheek upon the soft pillow of his bed in the barracks, his eyes unseeing, his heart absent and his mind remembering his Avari brother's words, as it delighted him with the most imaginative of scenarios of himself and Glorfindel, his Golden Sacrifice – 'one more year, one more year.'


	12. The Dawn of Brotherhood

Chapter 12: The Dawn of Brotherhood

_Glammohtar_

He was nervous, for the first time in many, many years – he felt that tingling at the base of his stomach, a slight shortness of breath, his limbs were restless, anxious for vigorous movement; it was thrilling and he was alive, strong, and _useful_.

Melven stood before the full-length mirror in nothing but his black, form-fitting breaches and the heavy black boots of The Company. His chest had become stronger, his pectoral and shoulder muscles more defined, his abdomen showing the coiled strength that lay beneath.

He picked up the brown leather skirt and wrapped it around his trim middle. It was slit up the front and back for riding, yet offering protection to the flanks and thighs.

He slipped into the sleeveless leather jerkin and buckled it up, completing his valet with the large vambraces which he tied securely closed.

Pulling the sides of his hair back, he held it at the crown with a tight clip, leaving but a little to fall down his back.

It was late, and he should arm himself. Melven continued to watch himself before the mirror, as one that had never seen his own reflection before. He buckled the quiver strap over his chest, slung his bow over his shoulders and picked up his sword, inserting it into one of the many loops of his skirt.

He reached for his dagger, slipping it into its own loop beside his sword and then pushed the service knife into the side of his boot.

Turning back to the mirror, he saw a warrior, a fit and handsome elf who looked nothing like Melven of Imladris, and yet it _was _him, changed beyond recognition almost, in every possible way – no, not Melven, this was _Glammohtar, _the Screaming Warrior_._

A brisk knock revealed Legolas and Elladan, followed by the rest of the Company and the other two recruits, all identically dressed, save for their many and varied armbands. Legolas' entire right arm was covered in them, from vambraces to shoulder.

The commander smiled as he approached his warrior, a small velvet bag in his hand.

"Glammohtar, as one of The Company, I gift unto you this symbol, that you wear it with pride in the fulfillment of your service to the Greenwood.

Glammohtar stared at the bag, before tentatively reaching out to accept it, digging his hand into the soft material until it hit cool metal. Grasping the item, he pulled it out to reveal a beautifully-wrought armband of mithril swirls with a central design, a leaf and sword. Legolas stepped forward then, taking the band from his hand and placing it high on his right bicep, before smiling and stepping back.

"Come," he smiled placidly, before turning and leaving, the entire company behind him. Elladan waited for them all to leave before falling into stride with Glammohtar, each looking at their respective armbands and smiling joyously, not unlike two small children on Yuletide morn.

The morning was crisp, a light mist still hovering over the green ground, swirling around their boots as they walked towards the ample stables. Their horses had already been prepared for them, and the stable hands now stood holding their reigns, waiting for each warrior to claim his own and make his final preparations. As they handed over the reins, they touched each warrior's locks with their other hand. Glammohtar was taken aback, rather thinking something had stuck in his hair, before he realized the gesture was one of respect – and thanks, and so he smiled ruefully, the apology implicit, and perfectly understood by the smiling stable hand.

There was a crowd at the gates which Glammohtar soon realized was for them. They were too far away for him to recognize, and so he slung his panniers over his horse's flanks and mounted, adjusting his seat and tack as he greeted the noble animal once more.

He reached back to check his quiver, his bow, and then fussed with the clasp of his hair, before he actually chuckled aloud at himself, for he felt like a novice warrior once more, for all the years of battle he had seen and done.

Lindo moved up beside him then, and gifted him with a radiant smile.

"You look wonderful."

Glammohtar simply smiled and nodded his head to his lover, glad for the distraction, for it centred him once more as he resumed his curious observations.

As Legolas spoke to various elves from atop his horse, the main pathway was beginning to fill. There was a large group of young elves together with their tutors, who ushered the excited, chattering children into some semblance of a line. There were many young maids too, giggling and pointing to this or that warrior.

Glammohtar smiled as he continued to observe the scene as it played out before him. He spotted three warriors standing together and conversing, realizing suddenly that these were the ones who had failed to complete the adjustment training. Their faces spoke of admiration, and just a hint of disappointment, yet they had taken their own decisions to leave the adjustment training, for all of them had mates, and as the training had progressed, they realized what it was that they would be facing, and the odds were simply too unfavorable.

Bercalion stood together with his son, Barathon, who once more would be left behind. His face was set in a mild grimace. He had failed, yet it seemed to him that this would be the last time that Legolas would deny him – for he knew the king had urged him to accept his cousin. And so he bore the shame once more – he knew it was simply a question of time before he, too, would ride out in splendor.

Galdithion stood alone, off to the side, for he did not want the attention. He simply wished to gaze on the one he loved. He watched his shining Noldorin warrior as he rode out with The Company, for these last memories would have to serve him until they met again, the Valar willing, in one month's time.

….

Finally, they were moving at a steady walk as Legolas moved to the fore, Dima and Ram en' behind him. As they joined the pathway that lead through the gates, Galdithion held up one hand to salute his Lord, the one he had dedicated his life to protecting, receiving an answering hand to the heart and the smile of a true friend. And then the guard turned his eyes to his lover, yet this time, there was no salute, just a simple smile, one that filled his own eyes with tears, watching as Elladan smiled back, a smile that spoke of love, passion, and reassurance, for he would come back, and they would embrace once more.

The children watched as the mounted warriors walked down the path, bound for the gates and beyond. They moved forward cautiously, holding out their arms and touching the warriors' boots, then legs, before looking up in awe and moving back. Yet it was not only the children, for the maids, the warriors and even Bercalion, repeated the same gesture, and Glammohtar was suddenly infused with a powerful sensation he could not, immediately place. He heaved a mighty breath as he felt the multiple touches upon his boots, his eyes swam and his nostrils flared. He realized that they were being thanked, just as the stable hand had done, and Glammohtar thought then, that he had never felt the warrior's purpose as he did at that moment. He had never been so aware of the nature of the job, never really perceived the gratitude of those he protected, had never felt such purpose and satisfaction for who he was and what he did. He was empowered, he felt fulfilled, for _this_ is why he had come to the Greenwood, in search of this feeling – and he had found it.

Just before they reached the gates, Legolas moved them back around to face the fortress. His father stood on the second-floor balcony of the fortress, Lainion and Aradan at his side. The King's golden crown illuminated the space around him and set his face alight, and although it was placid, his eyes were awash with turmoil.

Signaling the order to dismount, The Company rallied behind its commander, waiting for the order.

"Warriors salute!" he cried, setting the hairs of those that watched on end.

And then they danced their salute of defiance before their King, Glammohtar and Rafnohtar striking their vambraces together and stomping their feet, as they chanted the words - for the first time together with The Company. The feeling was powerful and infused them both with a sense of purpose and belonging, for should a company of fifty orcs assail them now, Glammohtar thought he would kill them all single-handedly.

Giving the order to mount once more, the silent crowd watched their Commander's face as he faced his King. Legolas raised his armoured arm and held it out to the king, his face solemn, placid, beautiful save for the bruise that marred it, waiting only for his father to return the salute, before turning, and cantering away, leaving three elves to watch as he regained the fore – their hearts heavy and their minds a whirlwind of worry and anxiety. Yet they were also joyous, for Hwindohtar was in the forests – and all would be well.

_Rafnohtar_

They trotted down the pathway that led from the fortress. This area was densely populated and the way was somewhat crowded with other riders, carts and wagons carrying supplies and such. It was a popular game for the young elves on horseback, to ride beside or behind The Company when they rode out, sharing with them a moment of glory as they waved to family and friends, something that always brought a smile to these fierce warriors, lending themselves to the light-hearted play.

Sometime later, the path became less populated, until it was practically deserted, save for a scattering of elves with their children, village dwellers from the many hamlets that dotted the surroundings of the fortress.

Legolas had raised his arm and emitted the hoot of a Tawny Owl, a signal both Noldo now knew meant to increase their pace.

Rafnohtar loped beside Glammohtar and briefly caught his eye as they smiled at one another and looked once more at their now adorned biceps. They were warriors of The Company, riding out into the far south, the most dangerous areas under Elven rule, a troop of the finest warriors on Middle Earth at their side. What they would find there they could not say, but right now, at this moment, Rafnohtar felt the breeze through his hair and the Sun upon his face, the strength of his horse below him, and for one riding into battle, the strangely antagonistic feeling of peace and freedom surged through him, and he smiled.

….

They had stopped at a small creek to rest and eat. Koron en' and Nanern stood watch as the others lounged under the trees, sipping water and munching on lembas.

"Well, Rafnohtar? How was your first ride out from the fortress as one of The Company?" asked Lindo with a smirk on his face as he came to sit beside the two Noldorin warriors and Legolas.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I felt a sense of peace and wellbeing wash over me as we rode down the path? Does that seem strange to you, Lindo?"

It was not the answer Lindo had been expecting, and so he took his time to answer his comrade.

"Yes," he began cautiously. "Yes, I believe it makes sense, although I am not sure I could express the reasons why."

"Philosophy was never your strong point, Lindohtar," smirked Hwindohtar as he rose and signaled for saddle up."

…..

Dusk had fallen and they had stopped at a mighty tree that harboured a flet high up in its sturdy branches. They had scurried up the trunk, leaving Pengon and Beria below to guard them.

The night had passed in companionable silence, each warrior keeping to himself. The veterans seemed at peace, yet he and Glammo, and he assumed the two recruits, felt a flutter of expectation at what was to come – what would the forest look like further south? Was it as bad as their training suggested? Would they engage spiders? Wargs? Black wolves?

Some penned letters while others ventured from the tree to a nearby stream, something they could still afford to do, for this area was safe, and well-guarded.

Legolas lay on his side atop his bed roll, in nothing but his leggings and boots. Rafnohtar realized that even those that already dozed had not removed their boots either. He decided then, that there must be a reason for it, yet he would ask, all the same.

"Hwindo, why the boots?"

Legolas looked up from his log, cocking his head to one side before answering.

"Just in case," he smiled, watching as Rafno's eyebrows rose, just as Elrond was wont to do. The thought brought a pang to the commander's heart, which he quickly tucked away, he could spare no time for fawning out here.

It was Ram en' who then settled beside Rafno, smiling before sitting cross-legged. He had obviously gone to bathe, and was now bare-chested, his hair dripping.

Rafno noticed a small cut over his right forearm, and gestured to it in silent interrogation.

"You should clean that, just in case," he said, watching Ram en' as he glanced down at the minor wound.

"Bah, it does not hurt."

"Nevertheless, allow me?" he asked, somewhat rhetorically, for he was already delving into his pack for the salve that would disinfect and provide a protective film over the cut.

"Alright, Healer Rafno," smirked Ram en', as he held out his arm.

As Rafno cleansed the wound and applied the salve, Legolas watched the interaction, smiling as he did so, for Elladan was, indeed, proving to be an asset to his company, as he knew he would – for if he was gaining the friendship of Ram en', then his place in The Company was already won, and glad he was of it.

…

And so their routine had been for the past five days. Rafno and Glammo had watched and commented on the changes they had seen the further south they rode. There were places of great beauty, even here, yet the canopy above them was darker, the odd spider web making itself visible for the first time, something which greatly disconcerted the Noldor, for the size of them had been a surprise to them both, and then the anxiety of confrontation with this foreign enemy had created a kind of psychosis between them, it had become a monster of unreasonable, disproportionate dimensions.

During their night-time rest, wolves could now be heard, although they had not approached, even though no fires had been lit, and the scurrying and scratching of the black squirrels had kept Elladan awake until well into the night, for they were as black rats to Rafno's mind, their fur doing nothing whatsoever to endear them to him.

Day six, and they finally rode into a small settlement, the first of two they would visit on this mission. They were greeted by their leader, Lithaldoren, a tall, thin elf in clothes that had seen much better days, for his breeches and shirt were frayed around the ankles and cuffs, his jerkin missing a few of its clasps. Yet he carried himself with pride and dignity, for he was Avar, as were the majority of these villagers, villagers that had now congregated behind their leader, standing in expectant silence, the afternoon haze settling on the ground, shielding their feet from view, resulting in the odd, and somewhat spine-chilling illusion of feetless spirits.

"My Lord, we welcome The Company into our humble home once more, we have been expecting you for a few days now. Was your journey uneventful, my King?"

"Indeed, Lithaldoren, and it is good to see you whole and hail," he smiled, relieved to have found the village still existed at all.

"And for that we can rejoice, for we suffered an attack two days past. Three of us were taken – two foresters, and one _child._ We fear for them, my Lord, yet the party was too big for us to take action and bring them back," he explained, his face a sea of conflict and anguish, for they were not warriors, but foresters.

"Then we will see to it, Lithaldoren. What can you tell us?"

"We saw around thirty orcs, and a few Uruks, four or five perhaps."

"Give us an hour to prepare and provision ourselves, we will do all we can, my friend," said Legolas, a subtle note of warning in his voice, for the chances of retrieving them were slim. They would have been taken for one of two purposes – as fresh meat, or for enjoyment and intimidation.

Yet before the leader could brief them any further, a female elf walked hesitantly towards them, coming to a halt before Legolas and Dima. She then sunk to her knees with a thud, bowing her head as she whispered her plea.

"My mate, my _daughter_, my Lord - p_lease,_ Hwindohtar. Save them, I _beg _of you take pity, my King."

Any conversation that had been taking place amongst the warriors had ceased as all now watched the scene that threatened to break their considerable composure, for the plea had been heartfelt and desperate – it was not the first time they had witnessed a scene such as this, yet it never ceased to wrench a hidden tear from them all, and then it came from an Avar, who rarely allowed their emotions to come to the fore – this elf was desperate, for she loved deeply, something that Legolas immediately understood, as he sunk to his own knees to face the elf that would not meet his eyes. He reached out a hand and gently tucked a stray strand of copper hair behind her ear in a silent plea for her to look at him.

"We will do all in our power, sister, even unto our own end, for that is the nature of our service to our people. Yet you know the dangers they face, do you not?" he asked softly.

"I do," she whispered as she finally brought her head up to look at this beautiful leader. "I know that their flesh may be consumed in life, that they may be taken as objects of pleasure, tortured beyond recognition – this I know and so I beseech you, my Lord – _sîdhoneth_…" she said desperately, her piercing eyes fixed meaningfully upon those of Yavanna's protégé .

There were collective gasps as the word was uttered, for she had requested nothing short of a mercy killing, should the situation merit it.

"Peace, sister, for should it come to that, I will not allow them to suffer needlessly, this I promise, and yet we may still save them – do not lose hope just yet."

A group of elves moved to stand behind the broken elf that had pled so earnestly for the return of her daughter and mate, taking her gently by the arms and into their collective embrace, walking her away, but not before one of the males glanced back at Legolas who still knelt. He smiled subtly and nodded before turning back to accompany his distraught sister.

Lithaldoren turned to Legolas once more. "Let us know should you require anything, my Lord. We are at your complete disposal."

Legolas nodded and then stood and turned to his elves.

"We will leave within the hour, on foot. Healing supplies, food and water only. Leave everything else behind. I want full battle gear and maximum stealth. We will meet here and garner the information we need along the way. Any questions?"

Silence reigned, and so as The Company broke up, some crouching upon the ground where they stood, others moving away. They were all digging into their packs, separating the items within and keeping only what they would need, leaving the rest here for when they returned, along with their horses. The villagers collected water and herbs for the warriors, handing them over reverently before moving silently away.

Legolas sat below a low-hanging yew, his legs crossed and his eyes closed. He emptied his mind, relaxed his body, and opened his senses to the forest around him. They did not speak to him, but they _did_ convey their emotions. He sorted through them as they assailed him and he began to understand the state in which they found themselves – they were lost, however much the Avari refused to admit it. They were disoriented, awash in limbo, yet somehow understanding that their death was near at hand. The Forest Lord could not reach them with language, for they were too far removed from the light, and yet he felt the deepest of pity, a heavy, dull ache in his heart for their plight, for this their last conscious cry of rage, of sadness, of involuntary surrender, for they wished to live, and yet understood that they could not, not here.

His mind shifted from the trees to the villagers. He now knew that should the situation take a turn for the worst, he would be required to give peace, for it had been begged of him, and Legolas would not refuse, for his own emotions were of no import.

He breathed deeply, willing his racing heart to slow down, as he cleared his mind once more until he was at peace, for only then, would he wage war.

The Company now stood together, fully armed, with nothing but a discreet sack across their shoulders. Rafno took in the faces of the Avari villagers. They seemed sadly hopeful, if such a thing were possible. Yet the years of defiance had taken a toll on their faces, their somewhat emaciated bodies. They suffered because they stayed, and they suffered because they could not leave – 'how then, could they be helped?,' wondered Rafno, as his eyes finally settled on the anguished face of the pleading elf, her eyes alight with intent, eyes that stared directly at Hwindo, he realized, eyes that continued to plead silently with him, 'bring her back to me, or deliver her from evil.'

….

Hwindohtar – Twirling Warrior

Dimaethor: Silent Warrior, lieutenant of The Company

Lindohtar – bard warrior

Pengon: Arrow Elf

Ram en' Ondo – Wall of Stone

Idhrenohtar – Wise Fighter

Koron en' Naur – Fireball

Naranern – Tale Teller

Glammohtar – The Screaming Warrior

Rafnohtar – The Winged Warrior


	13. Deliverance

Chapter 13: Deliverance

It was not yet midday, but it seemed to Rafno that it was dusk. There was no merry bird call, warble or chirp, only the hum of locust and cricket, the occasional howl of a wolf or the skittering and shrieking of the black squirrels. The very trees were nothing but dry husks, no leaves or shoots to tell of, their barks oozing a sap so black it resembled molasses. It was almost as if they bled, he thought – for the land had deteriorated dramatically over those two days of enforced silence, and it seemed to Rafno that they had stepped into the realm of Morgoth himself.

It stank here, layer after layer of wood and leaves, rotting in the rancid, filthy water that soaked them, the putrid corpses of animals half eaten, left to the scavengers. Yet it was precisely this that would tell these bold warriors of the stage of decay and the nature of the wounds that had been inflicted, information that would help them to plan and execute their next move. They tracked a group of around thirty, at least five of which were Uruks, just as the villagers had guessed. They were three or four hours behind them and if both parties continued to move at their current pace, they would catch them during the dark hours, hence engagement would have to wait until the morning.

They had left their horses at the village two days ago, it would not be practical to bring them here, however well-trained they were. Here, stealth would become an art, in a place where only the strongest of minds would endure the press of darkness, as Rafno and Glammo were about to find out.

Lindo stayed close to Glammo, as Hwindo kept Rafno by his side, while Ram en' and Dima worked with the other two recruits. They still remembered how difficult it had been for them on their first expedition into the Mirkwood, an experience they would never forget, one that had made them all question their calling; _they _were still here, in The Company, albeit they had lost half their numbers since then, and still, the love they held for the forest and the people they served was stronger than anything they had suffered during those long years of service.

They walked in single file, now relieved of their packs, which they had left at the last usable flet just this morning, taking with them only food and water they knew the captives would need, if indeed, they were still alive.

As The Company inspected the terrain in silence, Nanern let out a crow's caw, drawing his companion's attention to the corpse of an adult elf. It had not been immediately clear that this was a body. A simple, filthy grey rag shrouded their eyes and hearts from the horror which lay beneath, yet Legolas needed to look, for the body would speak to him, would tell him how he had died, valuable information that could save the lives of his elves and so he lifted the cloth and settled his trained eyes upon the ruin below, Rafno craning his neck over the commander's shoulder.

They had not partaken of his flesh, which meant that they had not been hungry – the others at least, may be alive then. This elf, however, had been tortured most brutally, his body a mass of mangled flesh and bone. Turning to Rafno with an inquisitive glance and receiving a nod in return, he finally covered the corpse, but not before cutting a lock of his hair and stuffing it into one of his pockets.

And their silent march continued, Glammo and Rafno emulating the step and gait of the others, for their stealth was extra-ordinary, and Rafno thought he had never seen the likes of it.

They were drawing closer, for the stench of rotting vegetation now mixed with the nauseating odour of pungent urine, faecies and other, unnamable substances, the mixture was undoubtedly orcish – they were nearer than they had originally thought, yet still, they would spend the night in discomfort and utter silence, a challenge that had been trying for the Noldor, for they could neither move nor speak, and so they simply huddled together, training their minds to ignore the acrid stench, relax their muscles and sleep, for come morning, they would engage.

Yet sleep eluded the son of Elrond, as he sat with his back against that of Hwindo. He set to thinking of how utterly bleak and depressing this place was – 'how could they stand it?' he wondered – these Avari villagers who had been here for so long, under the influence of the Dark Tower. This was no life, this was a living hell; it was dark, foggy, humid, here the sun did not shine, there were only varying degrees of visibility. Everything was grey – dark grey, light grey, and every shade in between, but always grey. The trees were all but dead - how did the villagers feed themselves? For surely they would have to travel for days to find game, not to mention vegetables, herbs and other comestibles.

He wondered then if the trees spoke to Hwindo, for they seemed dead to his eyes. What did Legolas hear, if anything? Did they communicate with him? Did they cry? Scream their agony? How could _he _stand it? For he was Lord of the Forests, surely he could feel their suffering…

Hwindo could feel the warm back of his friend against his own. He was awake yes, and somewhat tense, he could tell, yet Legolas would not criticize him for that, for this was his first experience in the Mirkwood, these southern regions where no one else wished to venture, save The Company and the villagers that stubbornly refused to leave. _He_ was used to it, which was not the same as being immune to its effects – it simply meant that it surprised him no more. However, there was one thing that only Legolas suffered, for no one else had the ability to communicate with the trees, and although most of them would not speak, he _did_ feel their emotions. It provoked in him a kind of anxiety that he was hard-pressed to describe - a feeling in his gut that told him that something terrible was going to happen, and that he would be powerless to stop it.

….

They waited as Legolas closed his eyes, tilting his head back and listening. His senses were extraordinarily sharp, and he knew their enemy was off-guard, confident in that they were well into their own territory, that no patrol would be _fool _enough to find them here.

He had deployed his best archers ahead and to either side of their target, no orders were necessary – they knew the tactics their commander would use. They had silently climbed the rotting trees, sharing the branches with the large furry bats that hung upside down from the hooks of their leathery cloaks, silent sentinels that moved not in their presence.

A series of short, sharp hand signals and the ground warriors unsheathed their swords silently and moved forward, pushing their advantage until the thwack of Greenwood arrows took down the first unwitting orcs guarding the two captives.

The second volley had taken a good number down, leaving the captives unguarded as Ram en' and Pengon moved in, cut their bonds and carried them away from the front line. The elves engaged then with a mighty clang of metal as they cut down their opponents one after the other, the archers thudding to the ground as The Company now moved forward in its entirety, hacking and swirling, slicing their black, leathery throats.

Rafno had killed many orcs, but this was his first Uruk and the difference was, indeed, great. He had taken several wounds, for it was strong, meeting his attacks and counter-attacking – it was intelligent, however not in vain had Rafno trained so hard and now, it all came to the fore as he swirled low, back-flipped, then sliced high, anticipating its movements and deftly slitting its jugular vein in a move that stunned him, even though he himself had executed it.

Glammo too, was battling his first Uruk. The beast was powerful, and every stroke of its blade sent violent reverberations through his entire body - if he was not careful, he would tire too much before he could bring this one down, and so he whirled in a full circle, swiping his blades low, just as Lindo had taught him, slicing through the stunned beast's ankles and making it roar in pain, a moment Glammohtar took to stuff his sword into the gaping jowls, receiving a satisfying gurgle before pushing it to the ground with his foot and thus releasing his sword.

A few scant minutes later and it was over, and Hwindo ordered their immediate retreat from the area- they would march hard and fast, as far north as they could with their kin, until night fell and they would be forced to stop once more, for there was no telling if any orcs had managed to escape – running off to bring reinforcements, and stealth was not an option with one civilian and a child – the entire Company realized the urgency with which they would need to move, and so, wounds forgotten, they hoisted the civilians upon their backs and began a brisk jog away from the rotten battle ground. Hwindo, however, found the time to catch Rafno's attention, smiling and nodding at him, for his friend had carried out that move they had practiced upon the training fields, and it had yielded the best of results. Lindo for his part, turned his dreamy eyes on his Noldorin lover, smiling widely as he simply said:

"You were _magnificent!_"

Now Glammo had rarely received such praise for his efforts as a warrior, undoubtedly because he had not earned it, yet that one simple sentence meant so much to him. It was true, he had fought well, better than he ever had, and although the darkness swirled about him, his spirit lifted and he beamed, first at the floor, and then at his lover.

….

Many hours later, they had already passed that first corpse they had encountered, and the terrain had improved somewhat, yet they could not relax here. Dima signaled that they would continue a while longer, even in darkness, for the danger was still too great.

Glammo observed Ram en' and Pengon, who carried the villagers towards the centre of the group for greater protection. The adult was wounded, and stared into the distance as one lost, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. The child, however, slept with her mouth agape and her eyes closed, the angelic head resting upon the shoulder blades of her savior.

On their second night of flight, the child emerged from her stupor with a keening wail, for she remembered her father, how he had shielded her, and then the monsters had hit him, beat him, his legs and arms had bent and creaked, and her father had cried as his daughter watched in horrified confusion. How could they do something so vile to her father? He was goodly and kind, everybody loved him – why then, did they treat him so? She did not understand the reasons, but she _did _understand the suffering and now, she remembered it all and the tears flooded her eyes as she wailed once more. Rafno embraced her urgently from behind then, placing his hand over her quivering mouth lest she attract the enemy.

It was Hwindo who moved to sit before her, placing a finger to his own lips in a childish gesture which achieved its goal as she grew silent, her huge, round, tear-filled eyes looked to him for guidance, for she was lost without her father. Legolas kissed her forehead then, before moving back and smiling beautifully at her as she lay in the healing arms of Rafno, who desperately tried to keep his own tears at bay, for he too had lost a parent, just as Hwindo himself had.

"What is your name? whispered Hwindo.

"Tui,"

"'Tis beautiful. Will you come with us to your mother, little swallow?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, her face filling with the light of hope.

"Then you must whisper, like me, alright?"

"Yes," she said again.

Hwindo nodded to Rafno, who stood, maneuvering Tui onto his shoulders, as the rest of The Company surrounded them protectively before resuming their desperate flight. Nanern also moved into the centre, accompanying the adult, his strong arm wrapped strategically around his unsteady frame.

Beria followed his comrades through the ruined terrain, his heart unbearably heavy and his mind struggling to reason the things he had seen. This was not what he had imagined just one week ago when they had set out from the Greenwood fortress, in his case for the first time. He had not truly understood his tutors' words during those days of training – for they had told him, and the words had stuck in his mind, 'Beria, guard your heart, tuck it away until you return, for there, where you are bound, it could very well cost you your life.'

…..

Dawn, and Hwindo and his men emerged from the trees silently, Tui hoisted high upon the strong shoulders of Ram en', one bedraggled forester at their side.

The villagers emerged then, just as silently, dropping from their flets and moving towards the group of filthy warriors. Their eyes scanned them frantically, seeking those that had been taken. It was Tui's mother who broke the silence when she spotted her daughter. Ram en' set her on the ground as she ran into her mother's open arms and the swallow finally sang out her grief in the strong embrace of her protector. Her mother's eyes moved up to the shadow that stood over her now, and she _knew_. No words were necessary, for Hwindo had already told her with his eyes as he extended his hand towards her, a lock of chestnut coloured hair in his hands, hair she knew so well, for she had worshipped it for many, many centuries, and so she took the offering, closing her fist around it as she shut her eyes, forcing the tears to roll down her grief-stricken face.

Another female joined them then, sparing a glance and a nod at the commander, before melting into the desperate embrace of the two grieving elves.

As the warriors walked into the midst of the villagers, moving in the opposite direction towards the stream, they were touched reverently, thanked for their service, yet no one spoke, for now was a time for silence.

…

The stream was surprisingly clean given the area they were in, and the water was drinkable, one of the only reasons the Avari had stayed here, and so they divested themselves and made their way to the various rocks and boulders that sat inside the water, rinsing themselves of the blood and slime that was caked onto their skin, in their hair, their boots. They were all battered and bruised, but no one had suffered major injuries. Elladan, however, had a few cuts that would need attention, and so Hwindo took up his small pack, extracted the antiseptic salve and approached.

Without asking permission, he simply began to work. "You did well, Rafno, that move got you out of a difficult situation."

"Thank you. The truth is I had no time to think on whether or not I could do it, it just flowed, and it worked."

"That is as it should be," he said, as Elladan hissed at the contact of cool salve on heated skin.

"Your first Uruk…" he prompted, distracting his friend from the pain.

"Yes, they are, indeed, different. More agile, of keener wit – and strong, very strong," he said, grimacing at the memory.

"Yes. There, I have finished," he murmured, as he smiled and strode away, back to his own boulder to wash out his filthy hair.

A gentle touch upon his shoulder brought Legolas face to face with a lovely female who carried a basket of soap. Legolas smiled joyously, for this was hard to come by, a luxury in these parts.

She nodded solemnly, before walking away, leaving Legolas to distribute the cakes amongst his now approaching warriors.

Elladan watched him for a moment, this gentle king who had seen to his wounds before taking his own comfort, who had ensured the well-being of others before his own. The truth was, that Elladan's mind was in a turmoil, for it was not only the battle, but the whole feel of this mission, from the moment they had entered the village to the present, he had felt a depression creep over him. The life these villagers led, their dank, dying home, their melancholy, their stubborn reticence to move away, their hopeless battle against the onslaught of darkness as its minions slowly but surely picked them off. The suffering he had seen in Swallow's lovely eyes – her utter confusion at the nature of evil. It made him want to weep, and then he wondered at these warriors, who had done this countless times, how much grief did they hold in their hearts? How did they deal with this, unexpected aspect of warfare in the Greenwood, nay, the _Mirkwood_, they had called it, for the battle was not only physical but _psychological._ How did one experience situations such as these and not be affected by them? To Elladan, the answer was clear, it was simply not possible.

…

Glammo sat, somewhat dejectedly upon the rocky banks of the stream, his mind far away, his heart heavy with the thick veil of sadness that hung over this village, it weighed him down pushed down on his chest –

"May I?" asked Lindo softly, gesturing to a boulder beside him.

"Yes," he answered automatically, not bothering to look at his friend as he sat and looked closely at the pensive warrior.

"What is it? The mission was not unsuccessful, for we retrieved two of the three captives, 'tis a good balance, given the circumstances."

"Perhaps, 'tis simply that this village depresses me, its inhabitants, the surrounding woods, it is difficult to explain, I …."

"You feel smothered, weighed down, a sense of anxiety has settled in your gut and it will not be moved, you wish to run, fast, away from here…"

Glammo was now looking at Lindo, his eyes wide, for his friend had described it perfectly.

"Yes, that is _exactly_ it, Lindo."

"It is the darkness, Glammo. You have not been here before – there is so much evil here, in the trees and its inhabitants, the beasts that lurk the woods, the very ground you walk upon, it seeps the evil that emanates from the Tower of Dark Magic, and the closer we traverse, the more severe it becomes. Some elves cannot bear it and panic, or weep, or simply run. 'Tis one of the reasons why not all can be a part of The Company, for we must be of strong mind and will.

"Yes, it makes sense," he murmured. "How can you stand it? How can you bear to come back time and again, knowing the suffering you will endure?"

"'Tis the nature of our service to our land, Glammo. This is why we are loved so well, because we, in turn, love – enough to do this, again and again, until victory or defeat free us."

Glammo sat there, watching this warrior as he spoke softly, spying a hint of grief on his fair face as he explained, it had been well-veiled, but it _was_ there. Yes, they were accustomed to it, but not immune, no – not immune.

…..

The trees around the stream were now laden with breeches, jerkins and skirts, which had been rinsed and left to dry. The warriors had changed into their spare sets of clothing and had cleaned their boots and weapons.

Leaving their clothing to dry, they wandered back into the village, immediately spotting Lithaldoren who walked over to them, his face grim.

"My Lord, allow us to offer you a humble repast?"

"You honor us, brother, and it would be most welcome."

He led them to the base of a tree, where cloths had been spread out, and a humble selection of bread, cold meat and nuts had been laid out. The Company sat cross-legged around the offering, waiting for the leader to give his blessing.

"Yavanna, Lady of the Earth, we give thanks for the fruits of the forest that sustain us, as we, in turn, sustain the forests, for so long as we may."

They nodded solemnly, especially Legolas, who kept his eyes closed for a little longer, before opening the startling green eyes, his face a reflection of pure grief for a few seconds, before he schooled it and began to eat.

"Tell us, Lithaldoren, how have these last six months been?" asked Legolas as he chewed.

"Just a little harder than the last time you were here. We lost three during that time, taken without an attack, simply snatched from the fields, never to be seen again. This last attack was the first in six months."

"Lithaldoren, you know what I would ask of you," he said, his tone most serious, his voice low, yet clear.

"I know, my Lord, yet our Avarin heritage will not allow us to leave them to….."

"_They grieve for you_!" interrupted the Forest Lord. He had almost shouted, and his eyes had filled with moisture.

They had all stopped eating, their heads bowed, for Legolas' reaction had been most uncharacteristic, he had always been most understanding of these people, and although he had never agreed to them staying, neither had he criticized them for it.

"Brother, please understand me. The trees want you to leave, they implore me to make you see. They can no longer protect you, provide for you. They know that the time will come, and soon, when they will try to betray you, even. Do you not see? For there is nothing left to protect here."

"While there is _one green leaf_ to be had upon _one tree_, there will be something to protect!" he shouted now.

"Lithaldoren, this is their dying wish, the last time they will be able to communicate with you – do not ignore it, I implore you."

The leader sighed audibly as he bowed his head, raking his hand through his loose hair. He looked back at Legolas then, who was still staring at him, that familiar green mist hanging about his eyes. Legolas frowned as he stared, willing the Avar to yield and take his people further north. Yet it was not in his blood, it was against his nature to abandon the trees, however sealed their fate might be, but did that give him the right to condemn his people?

"I will call upon the elders, my Lord. I will tell them your message and I will put to them your request. Perhaps the next time you come here we will be gone, who knows – " he finished, smiling timidly at the elf before him, watching as the stern features slowly smoothed out and he, too, sighed.

"I can ask no more of you, and I hope with all my heart that you will be gone, six months hence."

They finished their food in silence, until Legolas finally stood and bowed to the leader.

"We should leave."

He extended his hand to touch Legolas' chest. "I can only thank you and The Company once more for your selfless service, and I pray you will all return safe and sound to your homes and families. May Yavanna protect you all."

Legolas smiled then. "She does, Lithaldoren, she does."

As they walked towards the river to collect their belongings, Tui's mother approached them. Her eyes were sad, she had cried for long hours, for she mourned the passing of her bonded mate, yet her daughter had anchored her to this world – thanks to her rescue she knew she could not allow herself to wallow in misery, and so she lifted her head now, looking at the commander squarely, before offering him a tentative smile.

"I have no words to thank you for bringing Swallow back to me, my Lord. Together, she and I will mourn the passing of my love - her father. I wish you joy, my Lord – _always_."

Legolas smiled at this, humble forester, for the effort she made to express herself in the face of all-encompassing grief, was plain to see.

"Then care for her well, keep her safe, for she is beautiful. I only hope that your village will decide to move further north, sister, for sooner or later, you will be overrun, and I would not see any harm come to one so lovely as Tui."

She had heard the words, yet could not speak her mind, for the elders would decide their fate, and she would accept it, to whatever end, for that was their way. And so she smiled, bowed, and left the warriors to make their final preparations for departure.

An hour later, they were leading their horses north-east, navigating towards Brethil, the second and last village they would visit, before riding back to the fortress.

Legolas moved astride with Elladan, glancing at him before turning his gaze back on the road.

"Tell me, Rafno. Tell me of your experience so far."

The commander's tone had been light yet controlled and Elladan understood that he was delving his psychological well-being.

"How to explain? … I will first tell you that my perception of the enemy, its danger, has changed radically. Before, I thought in terms of orcs, or wargs. Now, they seem secondary to me, for the nature of evil I have now seen more clearly… do you follow me?"

"Indeed, but go on…"

"Um… you see, I believe that His greatest weapon – is the pain He inflicts for others to witness – does that make sense to you?"

"More than you could ever know…"

"It weighs on the soul, whittles down your motivation, your energy, renders you – helpless, somehow, as a skirmish or battle would not. It is a powerful weapon, for whereas battle empowers the warrior, the suffering of the innocent sucks his energy, leaves him prone to error. Forgive me, for I babble…"

"You are most perceptive, Rafno. Most would put the feeling down to the dankness of the area, the mercurial foresters, their Spartan lives – you, however, have understood it perfectly. It is, indeed, a weapon. The Dark One created them to cause suffering not only of the flesh but of the spirit, he understood that this last quality would be the most dangerous of all, and he will use it for as long as he is allowed."

Rafno was speechless, for to him, his own words had sounded strange, yet they had flowed from the bottom of his soul. To hear Hwindo second his own strange musings was a surprise, one he would need to ponder further.


	14. Dark Embrace

Chapter 14: Dark Embrace

The forest was healthier here, for the trunks were brown, and the branches were spotted with green leaves. It was not the vibrant, pulsing forest of further north, nor was it in any way comparable to the Evergreen Wood, still, here, the squirrels _were_ brown and a smattering of birds sang their merry songs. Strange how only two-day's ride to the south, the land could change so drastically, and hearts could suffer so greatly.

It was Legolas' first patrol through the forest since his crowning, and the trees reached out, calling him over to them. And so, The Company observed with amusement, the strange spectacle of their beaming commander, meandering from one side of their trail to the other, reaching out with his hand to touch the barks of the trees they passed. There was a constant rustle of leaves and a light breeze that had nothing to do with the weather - as if they hailed their Lord, thought Glammo, just as Amanthor and Lindir had done with their music in Imladris.

The heavy burden of darkness had lifted almost completely, and the warriors now smiled cautiously, their brows no longer drawn together, their hands no longer gripping the reins of their steeds. They chatted quietly amongst themselves as their horses ambled through the forest. Idhreno and Nanern giggled quietly, while Pengon and Koron en' were engrossed in some conversation or other. Ram en' smiled to himself, obviously lost in his own pleasant memories and Lindo was, of course, abreast of Glammo's steed, explaining something that had them both engrossed. Rafno, however, had not been able to shake the truth he had discovered back in Lithaldoren's village. It made so much sense that those feelings were provoked, and not just a logical and natural reaction to the suffering of others, it was so simple, yet not at all obvious, if such a thing were possible.

It was only then, that Rafno truly understood the words his father had penned to him. He had asked his son to watch Legolas, claiming that his heart was burdened. Elladan had not seen it – still couldn't, save for a few times, when, for a split second he had seen through the veil. _This_ is what his father meant – for Elladan had said it himself, it simply was not possible to be immersed in the darkness, witness it first hand, paradoxically upon the angelic face of Tui, and not be affected by it – and Legolas had been doing this for over a thousand years.

"You are quiet." It was Dima, who now looked at him expectantly.

"Yes, I wax philosophic today, Dima."

"Are you alright?"

"Aye, Dima. I simply wonder at the villager's plight, their sacrifice, for to stay in that place for so long must take a heavy toll on the soul – one that can be seen in their character, for they are quiet, sad, introspective…"

"Yes, it takes a toll," he began, his voice quiet, for he did not want to spoil the warriors' morale. "Although Lithaldoren promised to muster the elders, deliver to them our Commander's message, I do not believe they will move – 'tis certain suicide, Rafno, a simple question of time before we find them all gone, slaughtered." He breathed deeply before simply nodding at Elladan, and catching up with Hwindo.

…..

They stopped on the banks of a lovely, shady river, dismounting and allowing their steeds to wander freely for a while. Each elf went his own way, some to relieve themselves, others to fill their water skins, and others to sit quietly and enjoy a bite of food.

Hwindo sat next to Rafno, both remaining silent for long moments, before Legolas spoke.

"You ponder on our conversation, on the nature of darkness, do you not?"

Rafno looked at him then, studying his face before answering.

"I seem to be most transparent, Hwindo, for Dima asked me the same question."

"And what was your answer?" he asked kindly, a slight smile on his lips.

"The truth, and yet not all of it." He stopped himself then, for he was not sure this was the time or place for such a transcendental conversation.

"Tell me only that you are hail and I will not press you. However, as your friend, I would have you unburden yourself. I know what it is to experience this for the first time – I have not forgotten wondering what was wrong with me, until I realized that my assumption was incorrect – it was not me, but the darkness, and my own reaction to it. It is like a beacon, not of light but its antithesis – cruelty that must be visible in order to render its crippling effects – the wearing down of one's opponent, until they err – and lose. Do you follow me?"

Rafno watched Legolas as he spoke those final words, words that had synthesized so well the thoughts that had been swimming around in his mind with no set direction. And yet Hwindo had put those thoughts into words, 'a beacon of darkness, planted purposefully with the intent of causing visible suffering and provoking error'. That was why Legolas never showed his feelings, because to do so would be to yield, for that was the very purpose of the Dark One.

"Rafno – I see that you have much to think on, and that is good. I will add only that one of the strongest ties that we, The Company, share, is that we all understand that which you, now, try to reason. This is why we are so comfortable together, perhaps why I am so comfortable with your father, with Glorfindel, for they too, understand the nature of darkness – Glorfindel was touched by it, _killed _by it." Legolas turned his head away then, his own words surprising him as his mind visualized the bracelet he had found in his father's treasure vaults.

Rafno smiled tenderly then, reaching out one hand and placing it over the side of Hwindo's face, over the slight bruise that still remained from where he had clumsily sailed through the trees, breaking his fall with this lovely face.

"You spoke heart-felt words to me not long ago, on that night of celebration in the Greenwood. And now I say unto you that you have my loyalty as a warrior, yet more than this, you have my undying friendship, Legolas, for I have come to know you, and I would never lose your company. You love, unconditionally, and so deeply – your generosity humbles me," he finished, his words slowly dying as his eyes held the green irises of he who sat beside him.

"Your words are bold, for a Peredhel, for your choice is yet before you – and yet you offer me your _undying_ friendship," he smiled, watching as Rafno realized the strangeness of his words. However, he opted for silence, smiling ruefully as Legolas slapped him on the shoulders – bidding him come, for the time had come to mount once more, for one more day, and they would arrive at the village of Brethil.

However, no sooner had he risen than he came to an abrupt halt, standing stock still, his hands balling into fists.

"Hwindo? Asked Rafno, rising slowly, and calling the attention of the others as he did so.

There was no answer, yet Legolas' breathing was now fast, and harsh. Elladan was startled half out of his wits as his friend pivoted to face him, his face alight with urgency, his eyes misted.

"Collect the camp, saddle up, we ride hard, Brethil is under siege!"

Dima rallied the elves who were atop their prancing horses in the blink of an eye, organizing their belongings into their panniers even as the ride began, hair swirling in the opposite direction of their capes, eyes set on the path ahead. Their ride that would last until late afternoon, when Legolas held up his arm, finally calling a halt for a short rest and briefing.

"Come close," ordered the commander. "There are many orcs and Uruks in this area, and more approach. It is a large party with the purpose of gleaning information no doubt. If battle ensues, you must be aware of a second group, for they do not travel together. Have a care and close your minds, warriors, and your _hearts,_ for they have no place here - you know what to do."

What ensued was hours of stealth, even atop their horses. No talking, only the noise of their horse's hooves upon the wood-strewn floor and the creak of their leather clothing, quivers and holsters; yet no sooner had they arrived at their destination, Legolas dismounted and stood tall, relaxing his own hands as he stepped out into the clearing before them, where the village should have been.

No sooner had he himself emerged from the tree line, Rafno knew they had been too late. The corpses of elves and a smattering of orcs littered the ground, their twisted bodies soaking the muddy ground, their blood turning it to copper. Pushing his feelings to the back of his mind, he joined the others as they bent down to inspect the bodies, noting the wounds that had been sustained, the temperature of the bodies. He also inspected the orcs the villagers had managed to bring down, their clothing, state of health – these had not been hungry, for they were well-fed – had come from the tower, no doubt.

After ascertaining that there were no survivors at all, Rafno bowed his head, feeling that now, all too familiar press of darkness descend upon him once more. There were males, females, children, all of them civilians, all of them cruelly slaughtered. They had not been tortured however, and it seemed to him, that the orcs had been looking for something other than sustenance or entertainment – it had been plain and simple execution.

His heart lurched, for children were so rare in Imladris, and yet here so abundant. Legolas had already explained the reasons, and yet to see them dead, their small bodies cut open - what terror would they have felt, before their conscious minds fled the body that sustained them? What anguish had they suffered when their mothers and fathers had been slain before their innocent eyes?

The Company deposited the elven bodies carefully upon a makeshift pyre they had erected, finally setting it alight as they said silent words of farewell; there could be no singing here, for they were not safe. When it was over, Hwindo unsheathed Yaavan and walked towards the dead orcs, slicing their heads from their torsos, as Ram en' and Dima impaled them, hoisting them aloft in a macabre line which faced south…

After a short briefing, they moved forward on foot. The battle was recent and they were less than a day away from the band. They had found their tracks heading north-west, towards Barabor's detachment, and so Hwindo had deployed Nanern and one of the two recruits on an alternative route, in the hopes of warning the western detachment of the danger that approached, and then bring them towards the south-east, where hopefully, they would meet, for the number of orcs involved in this incursion was large, and to Hwindo, it was clear that The Company would need help before the day was done.

…

It was now mid-afternoon, and Hwindo laid his hand on every tree they passed. They mostly answered him, saying only that there were, indeed, orcs in the area, that they had passed by not long ago. However, trees had a very different concept of time, and the Forest Lord knew he could not take that literally.

A snapping twig froze the entire detachment, halting their movement midstride, until they realized it had been Glammo, who held up his hand in silent apology. Lindo turned his head to his lover, smiling encouragingly, for Glammo's face was set in a fierce scowl of self-admonishment. 'Damned boots,' he cursed to himself.

An urgent hand-signal from Dima had them scurrying up the nearest tree. Rafno's foot slipped and would have crashed to the ground, had it not been for Koron en', who held him firmly under the arm, hoisting him up until the flailing warrior found his feet. He dared not blow out his breath, but he _did_ turn to nod humbly at his savior.

Scant seconds later, a small group of orcs trampled through the copse in single file, obviously bound for some mission, for they did not stop to inspect the ground. 'Good', thought Hwindo, for it meant that their presence had still not been detected. The downside, however, was that should The Company engage, this group may return, trapping them in the middle of both companies…

Afternoon turned to dusk, and now, the sounds of grunts, screeches and barks could be heard clearly. There was an orc encampment ahead of them, and even if they had not heard it, they had certainly smelt it from afar, something that told them all that this group was indeed large.

More hand signals from Hwindo, and Pengon disappeared through the foliage, under the waning light that now waxed dark blue. In less than five minutes, he had arrived at the tree line beyond which, was a glade, and the orcs. He counted sixty, yet there were three tents around the perimeter, which could well harbor two or three more each, plus those that would be in the bushes. His best guess was seventy.

Just as he stood to leave, he spotted a large, bulky figure emerging from one of the tents. Its form was that of a Uruk, yet something compelled Pengon to watch closely, for there was something different about this one. It finally came to him in a blast of worried surprise. Its face was not black and leathery, and its hair was not dark, but blonde, its skin pale. He was too far away to see any more details, but this – abomination – was new to him.

He needed to get back, and fast, for the information he bore was not good.

….

Pengon had finished his silent report to a now fiercely scowling Hwindo, for they could not engage, the odds made it impossible. He signaled their plan to skirt around the camp, back tracking a little first, before swinging round to the north-west. However, as they turned to move away, they heard the first orcs approaching them from behind. Their eyes widened, for the other, smaller group had returned. Dima signaled due west, thinking perhaps they would be lucky and not run into them, yet that was not to be, as the first screeches alerted the elves that they had, indeed, been discovered.

The only way out of this, desperate situation, was to press the oncoming group back and make a dash for it, back the way they had come, but it was too late, as a hail of chaotic arrows were propelled towards them, forcing them backwards. However, the elves had moved in two different directions, one west, the other east, a standard tactic for situations such as these, it meant the possibility of at least some of them escaping, in search of help.

Hwindo found himself together with Rafno, Idhreno and one of the new recruits, Beriadan - only four – it was not enough, they would not make it, but the other group may, if he could distract them.

And so Hwindo yelled his most chilling of battle cries as he jumped and twirled, slashing and stabbing at the orcs nearest to him, taking them down in the beat of an eye and a swish of cloth and leather, his comrades emulating the display of elven swordsmanship - and it worked, for that short moment in which the beasts stood in surprised stupor, had allowed Dima's group to escape the immediate area, and then run like the wind, a number of the orcs giving them only a half-hearted chase, for they already had four, warriors no less – their leader would be impressed - there may be information to be gleaned here at last.

Rallying his group, Dima pushed them to their limits, for now, their brothers depended on them – every second they lost could mean torment and death for four members of The Company. They had to find Barabor, and fast, and as they sprinted away in single file, they did so to the sounds of shouting and cheering, surely marking the moment their brothers were, inevitable, brought down.

…..

"Hwindo!" he hissed, softly enough to avoid drawing the attention of the orcs. Yet he received no answer, nothing. Legolas lay on his side, his arms bound tightly, a thick black shaft protruding from his shoulder. On closer inspection, Rafno realized the shaft had not penetrated too deeply and it did not seem to be in any life-threatening position. It had been the only way to bring him down, for he had fought as one possessed - they all had, taking down a good number of orcs before Hwindo was shot, and the others beaten to the floor. They had then been manhandled to where they now sat, tied securely around the trunk of a tree. Hwindo, however, had been dragged, for they had clobbered him twice over the head for good measure as they approached him, for even with an arrow in his shoulder, he had terrified them. Idhreno sat quietly, watching Rafno as he assessed his commander's injury as best he could without the use of his hands. He then turned his attention to Beria, who also sat quietly, yet his eyes moved frantically from left to right. Idhreno recognized the signs of near panic, and so he kicked the warrior's boots, garnering his attention and nodding softly to him, willing him to calm himself. The warrior stilled, then nodded slowly, breathing deeply and willing his racing heart to calm itself. Yes he had been trained to endure in a situation such as this, but he never imagined it would happen to him on his first ride out!

"Rafno…," hissed Idhreno, as quietly as he could. "Is it bad? Can you…" he was abruptly silenced, as the orc sitting watch over them threw a stone at him, which the warrior narrowly avoided. The orc simply growled, then showed them its rotten teeth, for even though they were indeed putrid, they were big enough to bite your arm off, and give you a nasty infection in the process.

…..

Dima flew through the forest, closely followed by Glammo and Lindo, Ram en', Pengon and Koron en', their legs pumping madly, yet responding perfectly. It brought to Glammo's mind those grueling weeks of cross-country running - how it was helping him now! he thought, as his mind wandered to his friend Rafno, now in the clutches of darkness. Destiny had dictated they pass this, most difficult of tests on their first ride out - captivity, and hopefully, rescue – yet he cringed to think on how long it would take them to find help and return, and what His minions would be capable of doing meanwhile…

They went unhindered until they could continue no more, collapsing onto the ground as they wheezed and coughed for long minutes, until Dima had gained enough breath in his lungs to speak.

"Drink and eat – we move again in five minutes."

It was in four that they began their mad sprint through the forest once more. However, Pengon, who brought up the rear of the group, quite suddenly gave the call to horses. Puzzled, Dima turned his head without stopping, although slowing a little, lest he run headlong into a beech tree. And then he saw the reason the warrior had called, for in the distance was a white horse, its coat shining almost preternaturally as it galloped towards them, Hwindo's steed. It was followed by the others, black, brown, chestnut, their manes whipping behind them, nostrils flaring, until they began to slow, finally stopping before the befuddled, panting warriors. There was silence for a moment, save for the neighing and whinnying of the noble creatures.

"How?" whispered Ram en', his eyes misting, for surely this was some kind of magic. Their horses would have moved north instinctively, backtracking their own trail. It was Koron en' who spoke then, for he thought he understood.

"Ram en', we serve the Forest Lord, deep is his connection with the trees...," he said no more, simply trailing off, for the rest was implicit, they had been summoned somehow, sent to their masters in their time of need.

…..

It was now fully dark, and the roaring fires began to cast their orange glow over the clearing, reflecting on the black eyes of the orcs, and the yellow of the Uruks, turning them a chilling blood red. They grunted and growled, yet were surprisingly calm. There was no shouting, no brawling, nothing, and Rafno wondered at that.

"Hwindo!" he hissed once more. This time, Rafno was alerted to an almost imperceptible move of the head. "Hwindo, wake up, but do not draw attention to yourself. Speak if you can but do not move."

The words were processed slowly. He was being called, someone was whispering his name. He concentrated on the words, on the tone and register, the emotion behind them, and then it came back to him in a roar of horror. They had been separated and he had drawn the attention of the orcs to the smallest group, that the largest could escape, a move that was doomed to end badly for them, of course. The arrow that bit into his collarbone was superficial, yet it was uncomfortable enough to make him wince.

He had been told by – Rafno, yes, that he should not move, not to draw attention to himself. He felt his confined body, his wrists behind his back, tied at the elbows. 'Would he be able to talk, should he try?' He knew not, and so he tried his luck.

"Rafno – where," he croaked.

"Hwindo, thank the Valar! Listen to me," he began. "Tis you and I, Idhreno and Beria. There are around sixty here, one sits and guards us – we three are tied to a tree, yet you are, as yet, unbound save for your arms.

"There is a – foulness to the air, Rafno, I feel – chilled," he gasped. "'Tis not the wound," he grated out.

His words had infused Rafno with a feeling of dread, for he, as yet, could sense nothing, but he would not doubt Legolas' senses, and so he looked back over his shoulder, nodding reassuringly at Idhreno and Beria - the commander was awake and lucid – almost.

They gave no forewarning as they quite suddenly sprang into action, a particularly large specimen appearing from one of the tents. It stood taller, its muscles stronger, sturdier than the average Uruk, and its hair – it was long, and twisted as was Legolas' top layer; the comparison was outlandish, but the technique was most definitely the same. This was a Uruk Hai, yes, but it was blonde, its skin fair, although sallow and mottled. It strode towards the captives then, stopping before them, and Rafno saw its yellow eyes for the first time, the pupils vertical, like those of a cat. It was a daunting site, one he had never seen before, and he realized then that this was what Hwindo had sensed just moments before, the strange being that Pengon had reported.

As it stared, it grunted and barked, until a group of Uruk came to join it, and now, four beasts stood menacingly, their heavily booted legs set apart, hands on their scimitars, mouths set in a sneer that promised much suffering.

Behind the Uruk, there was a scurrying of booted feet, and a clanking of rusty metal, followed by shouts and screams of excitement as the orcs inched closer to their leaders, their beady eyes hoping for a glimpse of what torture would be inflicted on their enemies.

When the strange leader spoke, it chilled them all, for its voice was not at all what they had expected. It was deep and mellow, not gruff or grating.

"Well, now," it said calmly, "Elven warriors from the Greenwood - and who is the leader, I wonder…?" it said, somewhat rhetorically, for it seemed to know that no one was going to answer him, and it rather seemed to Idhreno that the beast was enjoying the challenge.

The prisoners calmed themselves as best they could. Hwindo kept himself to the floor on his side, the arrow forcing him into an unnatural position, forcing him to adjust his posture. Beria watched him carefully, encouraged when he saw his commander's face for the first time, for he stared at his enemy now with steely resolve and defiance, the blood marring one side of his face only serving to lend him an air of deadly ferocity.

The Uruk crouched before its prisoners then, looking into their eyes one by one, searching for the clues it had been trained to recognize. Hwindo knew what it was doing, however incredible it seemed for a Uruk to be using such an – _advanced_ technique; it was sounding out who was who; he just prayed that Beria would stand the test, for of them all, he was the one whose heart was still tender, the one that least understood the nature of the game that was now being played.

Moving to stand before the recruit, it looked into the slightly glassy eyes, eyes that moved too quickly to the left. This one was nervous – a warrior, yet he was nervous, he hid something, yet what? Or better still, who?

The Uruk smiled triumphantly, showing its pearly white teeth, not rotten at all, yet huge and sharp. It lifted its chunky arm and backhanded him, knocking him into Idhreno beside him, who did his best to right his comrade.

Now before Idhreno, the warrior received a punch to the gut, forcing the air from his lungs most cruelly. And there it was again, observed Rafno this time, the beast would look to the sides each time he struck one of them – he realized then, just as Hwindo had, that it was looking for a reaction, it was intelligent, it seemed.

It now stood before Rafno, cocking its head slightly as it took in the starry grey eyes of the dark one. They were lovely, strange – 'maybe this one then', it thought, before punching him in the mouth and splitting his lip, cracking the warrior's head into the bark behind him.

Now he was before the blonde one, the one that had fought like a demon, the one his orcs would not approach without rendering him senseless. His eyes were green, he noted, sparkling green, his hair fair, like his own. He was beautiful, it thought. Fisting the crude arrow in its claws, it yanked it out of the bone where it had lodged itself, garnering a strangled moan from Hwindo.

The beast saw the dark one frown slightly, before hiding it, and he saw the nervous warrior's mouth open slightly – yes, _this_ was the one he would use - he had already suspected that this was, indeed, the leader, for he had never seen an elf fight as _he_ had. This one would give the best results, together with the dark one, for his eyes were different, and he had seen the desire to help his friend. Its evil would be more effective with them, for if his guess was right and they _were _the leaders, then the other two would suffer and give him the information he required - the nervous one, yes, _he _would give him the information he had been sent to retrieve…, he just had to play out the pantomime and wear him down.

…


	15. Journey to the Stars

Warning: torture and violence

Chapter fifteen: Journey to the Stars

Dima pushed them all to the very limit. They were still a day and a half away from Barabor's reported position, and he wondered how long it would take Nanern and the recruit to get to them, bring them towards the south and gain the valuable time he knew they would need.

He turned his head to the rest of his company as they galloped on, enshrouded in a cloud of dust, for here, the ground was dry, although not yet barren. They stood upon their stirrups, allowing their horses more freedom of movement, their skirts and capes flowing behind them, like banners in the charge. Their faces were set in a grimace that would send the bravest of elves to quaking, their chestnut hair flying around them, broken only by the darker mane of their Noldo warrior. Four were missing, four brothers taken by evil's minions, and they would not stop until they brought them back to the light and struck down those that had dared to harness them. Time was of the essence - if they were lucky and rescue could be carried out within 48 hours, maybe, just maybe, they would avoid what they already knew, was inevitable.

….

Sometime later, a scout thundered into the Western Detachment's camp, two warriors hot on his heels. They skidded to a halt and, to the utter awe of those that looked on, one was already on the ground, panting hard as he doubled over, placing his unusually strong arms upon his skirted thighs. It was then that Barabor realized who this was – it was Nanern, of The Company.

"Lieutenant, what has happened? Speak!" he cried harshly, as he strode towards him, for his mind was way ahead by now, realizing that something dire had happened further south. He regretted his tone, however, as the warrior stood to meet his eyes, his chest still heaving, his voice coming in forced spurts, alternating with harsh whispering when it failed him.

"Abnormal orc activity to the south-east. Brethil is razed to the ground, its inhabitants slaughtered. The Company requires help, there are at least two large groups – they were closing in on us when we left, almost two days ago…"

Barabor held out his hand and placed it on the heaving shoulders of Nanern. "Take food and water, we ride out in fifteen minutes. We will provide you with fresh mounts for the ride back, _you _must guide us."

"Captain, I request you send a scout to the eastern and itinerary detachments, each group is fifty strong at least, an inordinate number of which are Uruks."

Barabor's eyes were wide, for these were dire numbers indeed, numbers he would expect closer to the Tower, yet so far north was not a habitual occurrence at all.

"Wargs?"

"We have not seen any," replied Nanern, finally finding his voice.

Barabor simply nodded briskly, as he called two of his warriors, giving them their orders.

Nanern nodded in satisfaction, help was on the way, 'they would be saved', he repeated to himself incessantly, he would see to it, for he would not allow it to happen again. Turning around to face the recruit, he smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "We will get them back, I swear it!" he whispered fiercely, to which the recruit smiled wickedly, taking Nanern's breath away momentarily, for he had only ever seen a scowl like _that _upon his commander's face…

"And I will help you," he replied boldly. Nanern smiled wickedly then, for _here_, was a recruit no more, _this one_, now had a warrior name…

…

Three Uruks moved over to Hwindo, yanking him up on unsteady feet, before one promptly swung its iron-clad fist into his gut, winding him and sending him to his knees once more, wrenching a pained groan from their victim. He was now surrounded by them - they leered, mouths twisting horrifically to reveal the fetid teeth inside the leathery flesh of their faces, their eyes gleaming in lustful anticipation. They snarled and gnashed their jaws, sending a cloud of stench into the air, much to the enjoyment of the orcs that had inched forward as far as they dared to watch the spectacle that was surely to come.

"Beria," whispered Idhreno, knowing what was about to happen. "Listen to me. They will not kill him, however much it may seem like it. They will beat and torment him, but as yet, they will not disable, for however much they wish to torture, they seek information that will not be given. Remember your training, he will delay as much as he can, more than you will believe him capable, do you understand me?"

Beria listened as he watched Idhreno with wide eyes. He wanted to believe it, but his mind was taking him down another road, and Idhreno saw it.

"_Trust_ me, Beria, I have been here before, as has Hwindo. I know of what I speak," he said, as he held the young warrior's gaze, willing him to see the truth in his words.

Idhreno glanced at Rafno then, and caught the look of grief upon his dark features, not quite sure how to interpret it. At least he was not panicking, and so he left him to his own devices. Little did he know that Rafno was immersed in his memories of that fatidic day he and his twin had found their mother, in a camp not unlike this one, for the smells were the same, the feeling of dread, the incomprehension that assailed him every time he pondered the nature of darkness – he only hoped that the outcome would not be the same.

The strange one approached the now, barely standing commander, a strange purring under its breath as it circled him. His hair was beautiful, it thought. It would ask its master to gift it with hair like this, as a reward for the information it would glean. Its hand suddenly lashed out and struck Hwindo across the face, sending him to the floor with barely enough time to register the Uruk's boots as they were buried into his middle, kicking him twice before stepping back, watching in delight as the elf curled into himself on the floor. It realized then, that the dark elf was watching, his eyes wide, searching. He cared and was trying not to show it.

Yes, he had chosen wisely.

….

It was but hours later that Barabor and the Western Detachment met with a relieved Dima and what remained of The Company. They had sent their bird calls forth when first they sensed the presence of the detachment, and Nanern in turn, had informed Barabor that The Company was approaching from the south. As they slowed and met, Nanern and the recruit were reunited with their brothers, and all were immediately briefed on the dire turn of events that had spurred their mad dash through the forest. Scant minutes later, the two detachments faced south and set forth with Dima and The Company at the fore. Barabor's elves took turns to ride abreast of them, reaching out their hands in a silent gesture of comfort, a gesture that brought a wave of love and gratitude over them all, such that their hearts ached, as the faces of their brothers came to the fore – they would not fall, they _could _not, not with warriors like these.

"Valar let us not be too late," murmured Dima, although Pengon and Ram en' heard him - his words had reflected their own silent pleas perfectly.

….

It bent down, taking the lovely hair in its fist and pulled up the elf's head, its own face just inches away from the kneeling warrior.

"I want information, I wish to know how many warriors constitute the 'Mirkwood' army. What armaments you possess, the organization of your patrols – that sort of thing, I am sure you understand. Now, will you indulge me?" it asked. It knew, of course, that there would be no immediate answer, for that was the nature of the game, he knew, and so did the elf he had chosen, he was sure, for his eyes were bold yet wise, and if his suspicions were correct, he was also their leader, he would be well-trained to endure situations such as this.

It smiled sadistically then, watching as the emotions flashed over the fair face of its elven captive, a face it would so much enjoy destroying, distorting beyond recognition.

"So nice, it smiled sadistically as he fisted the blond locks that had so mesmerized it since they had caught the elves. Tilting the head back to look into the elf's eyes, it was disappointed to find only steely resolve in the crystalline green irises, no fear, no panic, only pure defiance. This one would be a challenge to its training. It lingered a while, fascinated by its own reflection that smirked back from the large, black pupils. A strange feeling assailed it then, one that it didn't quite understand, making it angry as its face contorted into one of sadistic intent. Gripping the commander's leather jerkin in both hands, it ripped the garment apart, pouring its own frustration into a movement so violent it sent Hwindo's hair flying around him, throwing the leather to the ground as if it were a sheet of parchment. It took a firm grip on the strong chin, pulling the elf first towards him, and then pushing backwards into the group of waiting Uruks, who cheered as they moved in, as Rafno struggled futilely against his bonds, for he was destined, as where the others, to watch the beating the Uruks would inflict. Rafno looked around frantically, willing his unit to materialize and rescue the king, yet they could not be there, for if they were, surely they would have reacted by now, besides, it was too early, it would be at least late evening tomorrow before he could even start to think of rescue. Idhreno, however, remained silent as he stared at the floor, his face a practiced mask of indifference, and Rafno wondered at just how much experience this elf had had in other, similar circumstances, for what he did was one of the most difficult feats that he could imagine, to remain impassive in the face of wanton violence.

All they could hear were thuds, gasps and a few strangled moans as the king was mercilessly kicked and punched. The strange one watched in sadistic fascination, yet there was an odd crease to its brow, something that puzzled Rafno, for it seemed confused, disconcerted almost, yet how could that possibly be? It approached Rafno then, crouching down to speak into his pointed ear.

"Does it not make your skin tingle, excite you beyond your wildest fantasies, make you hard to see beauty spoilt and broken?" it purred sadistically, sending its stinking hot breath into Rafno's sensitive ear. I could kill him and save his suffering – and yours, if you would but tell me what I wish to know... How many warrior's in the Greenwood army? Hum?" it asked softly. Rafno kept his eyes on the group of Uruks before him, weighing up his possibilities. He could lie, or remain silent. However, before he could decide on a strategy, the Uruk stood and called a halt to the proceedings, the Uruks moving away immediately, their chests heaving with the effort they had put into the beating, eyes aflame in unspent desire, for they wanted more.

"When next we see each other, I will have my answer," it said calmy, "from you," it pointed at the tree, "or him," pointing at the prostrate body that lay unmoving upon the ground. With a nod of its head, they were gone, back to the tents, leaving the orc on watch to drag the inert body closer to the tree and his companions, taking the limp arms and tying them harshly behind his beaten and bruised back.

Idhreno's face transformed then into one of wrath and indignation, utterly breaking the spell of indifference from before, as he trained his eye on the body at their feet. He didn't move at all, and in spite of Rafno's desperate hisses for him to wake, silence was all he received. The golden hair was splayed around his head, obscuring his face, yet revealing his back and side, which were red and purple in some places, where the blows had been hardest.

Beria's eyes were closed, beads of sweat now too heavy with accumulated moisture, began to trickle down his face, his heart finally slowing its frantic beating as his muscles began to lose their tension, leaving him physically exhausted. He had panicked, had failed to carry out his training, he had shown his suffering and was left wondering if that was why they had been so cruel…

….

Gondien sat, eating his well-deserved chunk of roasted meat. They had made camp in a peaceful area towards the south-east, yet they were not that far south to feel the oppression, and so they had taken advantage of an uneventful mission to find some comfort.

The meat was hot and juicy, the liquid dribbling down his arm, finding its way under his cuff, yet he cared not, for the taste was sending him into a frenzy of delight. As he bit into the soft, tender flesh, more of the gravy ran down his chin, to his neck and under his collar. He closed his eyes in ecstasy, for he had not had fresh meat for two weeks.

He had almost finished, yet there was still one, enticing chunk in his hand. About to take it to his mouth and engorge it, his lieutenant came running towards him. His hair was in disarray, eyes too large, his brow furrowed, this was no mere request for orders - something was wrong.

He stopped chewing, the meat still in his mouth as he listened to the report.

"Captain, an urgent plea for help has arrived from Barabor to the West. The Company require urgent aid, Brethil is destroyed, its inhabitants slaughtered. Two groups of fifty were moving in on them, now 36 hours ago."

"Go, rally the detachment, we ride in ten minutes," his voice was muffled, the sound traversing the half chewed meat in his mouth, yet he cared not. When his lieutenant had left to do his bidding, he chewed and swallowed, looking longingly at the chunk still in his hand. He wasn't going to squander it, and considering he already stank of roasted meat, he stuffed it into his tunic, for the road would be arduous and he would need nourishment along the way.

…

Night had turned to early morning, and the three tied warriors had fallen into an exhausted slumber, their heads resting on their brothers' shoulders. However they were jerked back to reality by a shuffling noise, followed by a cough and a groan.

"Hwindo? Called Rafno urgently under his breath.

Hwindo drew his knees painfully under him and sat up slowly, somewhat unsteadily, closing his eyes as a whirling bout of vertigo hit him. He coughed, before swiping at the blood running from his nose with his good shoulder, and spitting more out of his mouth.

Groaning again, he closed his eyes before opening them once more. "Well, that could have been worse," he slurred, sniffing as he rubbed his eye.

The comment would have been humorous under different circumstances, but where he had been red and purple just hours before, he was now purple and black. Every inch of skin was marred by a bruise or a cut. His hair had stuck to the blood from his eyebrow and a cut on the cheek, plastering it to the side of his face he had slept upon. A black eye, a somewhat puffy nose and a split lip completed the damage inflicted.

"What? Hwindo, you are black and blue, I fail to see how it could have been worse," answered Rafno, almost indignantly.

"I will not answer that one, Rafno, but trust me on this. Now listen carefully, this Uruk is not natural – it _thinks_, its thought processes are much more advanced, it is dangerous for it knows not its own nature I think, I can see confusion in its eyes and it makes it unpredictable – you must guard yourselves, especially your hearts, for it will delight in your suffering – the more you suffer, the more pain it will inflict, and the more excited it will become, and therefore the more barbaric it will be - _remember_ this," he urged, looking first at Rafno and then training his eyes on Beria a little longer.

"Are you alright?" asked Idhreno quietly.

"I am alright, brother," answered Hwindo quietly, before turning his eyes back to the new recruit.

"Beria," called Hwindo softly. "Stay with us, warrior –"

…

Barabor had finally arrived, the stench alerting them to the camp at last. Yet the captain remembered that there were at least two groups. The other group could appear at any time, probably from the south, and so he sent two scouts to watch their position from the back.

His was a full detachment of twenty, add to that the members of The Company and you had close to thirty, albeit each member of that elite detachment could be counted as at least two, he knew. Thirty against the sixty or so still let in this camp, plus fifty more somewhere to the south - the odds were dire, they needed to wait for Gondien's elves, and that could well be another day… Elbereth, over two days of captivity was bordering on madness. His heart clenched at the prospects. To lose Legolas and his Company would mean a disaster for the Greenwood, not to mention the psychological impact it would have on them all – no, that was not an option – as the Valar were his witnesses, that was _not_ an option.

They had taken up positions around the camp and had settled in to wait out the tense hours before Gondien made rescue a possibility.

Ram en' cursed them all to Mordor, and he supposed the others were doing the same, for they were all there, watching yet unable to intervene - unreasonably outnumbered. The beasts had beaten their already wounded commander, that much was clear although they had arrived after the ordeal, and then there was his long-time comrade, Idhreno; the Valar knew he had already suffered through this, they both had, side by side. And Rafno, whom he had come to respect in the short time he had been with them, he sensed greatness in this Noldo warrior and he would be saddened indeed, should anything happen to him. His eyes strayed to the young recruit then, Beria. He was tied at the end of the line, next to Idhreno. 'The Valar give him strength', he pleaded silently, for of all of them, he was the most vulnerable.

Glammo too, was pondering the dire situation. His own lord was there, tied, awaiting the Valar knew what torment they would inflict on him. It brought to mind the plight of his lady, Celebrian, and he was sure that Elladan too, would be thinking the same. He could not imagine Imladris without Elladan, could not imagine Elrond still there at the fore, without his eldest son, more he did not want to, for Elladan had become a dear friend to him.

Lindo watched Glammo as he stared off into the distance. His face was an open book, he thought, and how beautiful he seemed to the Bard Warrior then, vulnerable almost, as one lost. He wanted to take him in his arms and comfort him, just embrace him, but he could not, not here, not now – yet soon he would tell him what had only recently become clear to him – for those things should not be left unsaid, not in this profession.

"Glammo," he whispered, waiting for his lover to turn and look at him.

"We will get them back," he whispered fervently, and Glammo, in that moment, believed him.

…..

Morning turned to afternoon, and blissful peace prevailed a while longer, for the beasts still rested, the fires extinguished, even the orc that sat watch was insensate, its ugly head resting on its armoured chest.

"They are here," smiled Hwindo, before grimacing at the pull of his split lip "They await in the trees, it will not be long, my friends – rescue is imminent," stressed the commander, watching as his warriors' faces lifted. They had not sensed anything, but neither did they doubt.

However, the fact that they had not yet engaged could only mean that they were still outnumbered, all four had realized this. And so they sat tight, or in Hwindo's case, lay tight, trying and failing to find a comfortable position.

"Cease your fidgeting, Hwindo, you need to keep still until your ribs are set…"

"'Tis uncomfortable, Elbereth…"

"And it will become more uncomfortable in a moment, for they return," warned Idhreno, watching as the four Uruks strode towards them. There was a glint in their eyes that Hwindo liked not, and he told them so.

"Remember, do not show your suffering, _whatever_ they do."

Moving up behind Hwindo, one Uruk cut his bonds, as the others too, were freed from the tree but not from the bonds that held their hands together.

The orcs were stirring now, realizing that the torment they so wished to witness, was about to begin again, and that this time, their lust would surely be slaked.

"Get up!" shouted the strange one, watching as Hwindo slowly stood, his arms out to the sides in an attempt to balance his swaying body. Taking Hwindo's battered face in its massive hand, it observed the now scabbed over cuts, deciding to open them again. A harsh backhand to the mouth and a punch to the eye did the job, and blood dripped from his cracked lip and split eyebrow, his arms wrapping around his heaving torso.

"Now, tell me again. How many warriors in your militia?"

"I, 300", he said slowly, as serenely as he could manage.

"Ah, of course – well perhaps we can persuade you to reconsider".

Taking one arm in a vice-like grip, the beast twisted viciously, causing the shoulder to leave its socket in a sickening crunch that made Idhreno flinch and Rafno grimace. Pain exploded down his right side as he yelled it to the heavens, the sound echoing around the camp, through the trees and straight to the heart of those that waited in silent vigil.

The others twisted in the beasts' grip, unable to rip their eyes away from their commander, for surely they would tear him to pieces if he did not satisfy the leader's questions.

Just as the pained scream finished, the hoot of a Tawny owl echoed through the glade, and although he was left gasping in pain, a slight smile appeared on his bloody lips as he sank to his knees, his dislocated shoulder hanging limply, face contorted in a mask of extreme pain, yet strangely soothed, for they had called to him, had comforted him by their presence through his torment.

Moving over to Rafno, it jerked him to his feet and looked into his face. "How many warriors in your militia?"

"300," he shouted angrily, earning himself a backhand that cracked his nose and made it bleed.

It repeated the gesture with Idhreno and Beria, both of which had answered the same, and suffering the same punishment as Rafno. It had not made itself clear enough, then.

Whirling back to Hwindo, the leader knelt behind him, pulling him back onto its chest, the embrace of a lover or friend. The beast flaunted its victim before the three captives, stroking his golden hair as he watched the three, restrained warriors.

It tightened the bulky arm it held around Hwindo's chest, oppressing his ribcage and making him moan miserably as his brow furrowed in pain.

"See, how lovely he is like this? Do you not desire him? No? I know that my warriors do, perhaps I should indulge them, for their obedience…"

Rafno and Idhreno clung to their training by a thread, their eyes downcast, faces as schooled as they could manage, but Beria was failing again, he could not do it, he simply could not.

The beast smiled triumphantly, as it placed a clawed hand on the king' injured shoulder, stroking softly, eyes now fixed on Beria.

"I would have him, this one," it continued as it stared, its hand now stroking across the beaten chest, across the pink nipples. I would rape him before your very eyes, before tossing him to the wargs…"

Idhreno realized the beast had singled out Beria, for it stared constantly at him, and Beria was watching! 'Fool!' he cried to himself.

"Beria!" He shouted, eyes to the floor, warrior…"

But Beria was caught in the malignant gaze, mesmerized by the evil that was being played out before him – he could not wrench his eyes away, for surely they would not, not to _him_ –

Its clawed hand moved back to the shoulder, squeezing in a macabre gesture of friendship and comfort. "Will you not tell me what I wish to hear?" it asked, sadly almost, thought Hwindo through the haze of pain.

The leader was unimpressed with the silence he received, however, and so he asked again - "I know you care for this one, how can you sit and watch as I torment him? As I _rape_ him? All you need to do is tell me what I want to know, and it will end, or should I cut his face, open his belly, impale him before your very eyes..." he said viciously as the other Uruks roared their approval.

Silence.

Pinching the collar bone with two fingers, it began to squeeze, its smile widening in satisfaction as Beria's face crumpled, inciting it even more, as the need to cause suffering peaked to almost unbearable heights. It felt its victim stiffen, his legs moving before him in a futile attempt to escape the painful embrace. It watched as blood began to trickle from a small wound, then roared in delight, its saliva dripping from the sharp canines as his victim let out an involuntary, long, drawn out cry of pain. It released the pressure a little, watching the restrained warriors once more. The nervous one, yes, he was on the brink, just a little more…

"Tell me, warrior, how many troops in your militia?" it asked angrily, staring straight at Beria.

"I…..,"

"Beriaaaa!" yelled Idhreno, making the beast roar and turn on his victim, pinching viciously on Hwindo's bone, making him wail in pain, the sound shaking the souls of all that could hear, for it was an uncontrolled, desperate expression of agony that finally turned into a screech, as the unmistakable sound of snapping bone could be clearly heard, a gush of blood streaming out of the now open break, pouring down his chest and onto the ground below. The hidden warriors pressed their hands to their ears, desperately trying to block out the sounds of distress, the younger, less experienced warriors beginning to despair at what they would be forced to witness before Gondien arrived with the eastern detachment.

Hwindo's eyes were wide in shock, his breathing fast and erratic, sweat beading on his bruised face, his legs moving weakly, in an obviously futile attempt to escape the iron grip of the strange one.

"Tell me, and it will end," it tried one more time, for the other warrior had interrupted what was surely the information he had worked so hard to glean. Yet the nervous one simply gasped, looking away as tears pooled in his eyes.

Rafno's heart jumped to his throat as he remembered Legolas' words; 'cruelty that must be visible in order to render its crippling effects – the wearing down of one's opponent, until they err – and lose', and Beria had lost… a wave of panic surged from his core then, for he had seen the moment the change had come about in the beast, reaching and passing that point of no return, where it would not, _could_ not be distracted from the spiral of cruelty it would wreak now, for it was an inbred reaction to suffering, and for all its training, the instinct could not be held at bay.

Rising abruptly, leaving Hwindo's body to slide to the ground, the Uruk rounded on the young warrior, still restrained from behind. Kneeling before him, it drew a long dagger and plunged it into his upper belly, watching as his eyes widened in surprise. There was no scream, but three collective gasps as it slowly began to draw the dagger downwards. Beria looked down in stunned fascination as he was cut open, the agony only now registering as he screamed, earning a roar from the Uruk that held him fast and which was now peering over the elf's shoulder.

'Yavanna, give him strength, for _mercy_, take him away, to peace…' implored Hwindo silently, holding his body upright in a show of strength he did not stop to ponder…

Hwindo's next words cut through the horror that Beria was immersed in, and in spite of the pain, he turned his head to his commander as he listened, for the voice was powerful, compelling, and he was unable to disobey.

"Beria, don't look, warrior, look at me, look at _me_. Breath through the pain, Beria, it will soon be over…" he said in a voice that seemed to Rafno was full of magic, love and compassion, it was not the voice of a tortured and beaten elf, it was the voice of a shepherd, and it could not be disregarded.

Idhreno's eyes were now trained on the commander's glowing green eyes, just as Rafno stared in uncomprehending confusion, for he thought he knew what was to come, and he had no desire to see it, or to fuel the lust of these, sadistic beings any further than it had already been, and for the life of him he could not have ripped his eyes away even had he tried.

The dagger had reached bone, and in one rapid movement, the Uruk plunged its fist into the cut, opening the elf's abdomen and disemboweling him, sending the beast into a frenzy of pleasure as the Uruks roared and the onlooking orcs cheered, licking their lips in morbid anticipation …

"Beria_, hear_ me. It will soon be over, brave one. Look at _me_…. calm your breathing…"

And he did, as the pain evened out, his mind concentrating on the eyes before him, and not on his body. He saw the face of a Vala then, beauty and compassion, love and understanding…

"Look to the stars now, for they shine brightly for you this night, brother… go to them now, to peace, at last."

The pain was shifting to the back of his mind as he tilted his head back towards the navy blue sky. The shiny, silvery dots that danced and scintillated merrily, seemed to move towards him then, or was he being propelled towards them? It was beautiful, he thought, this new journey; it was his last coherent thought before his consciousness simply slipped away, into the stars and their welcoming light, the last sound to reach him was the hoot of a Great Horned owl, it was time, and they were safe.

Rafno and Idhreno sat in stupefied awe, uncomprehending of what it was they had just witnessed, the jeering and shrieking and howling had faded away to nothing, as if they were no longer there, captives to the Uruks, watching the disembowelment of their companion.

The shrill cry of an eagle hunting its prey split the night, then, and chaos erupted, but Beria had already left on the wings of a white dove, the face of a smiling Kelementari in his mind's eye, as they rose up into the heavens together, on a journey to the stars.


	16. The Shepherd

CHAPTER 16: The Shepherd

Those of The Company were the first to fire their arrows on their captain's signal, finding their mark in the Uruks that had tormented their brothers with a resounding thwack and thud, the element of surprise allowing them to take down those vital few that could well make all the difference. They loaded in the flash of an eye and fired again, with all the power their strong arms could muster, before the worshipping eyes of the younger warriors who sat poised in the trees, observing their stance, their powerful draw, their perfect precision as their muscles rippled beneath their many and varied armbands. It was only now that the orcs realized what was happening, so sudden and silent had it been.

Barabor and his elves charged from the West, as Gondien and his detachment rushed in from the East, whirling their shining steel in the early evening darkness, dancing to the many and varied battle cries that were launched to the heavens. They were angry, livid, as they lifted their arms and brought them crashing down upon the pulsing mass of orcs. The battle was set and the odds were evened if only by the sheer wrath that exuded from the elven warriors as they flung themselves at the enemy, remembering the screams and wails they had been forced to endure before Gondien had arrived, and now - now it was time for punishment.

Pengon, Koron en' and Ram en' made their way to the captives as inconspicuously as they could, beating down the few orcs that stood in their way, for the tree was off to one side of the clearing. After cutting their bonds, they armed their battered brothers, before making their way over to Hwindo, as Rafno made a dash for Beria, for if he was not dead, he was very nearly so – disembowelment usually killed the victim by heart failure, the sheer shock of seeing your own innards _outside_ the body proved too cruel for most hearts to bear, yet some were capable of surviving for many minutes before death finally took them, for death _was_ the only outcome. The barbaric act had been inflicted to strike terror into their hearts, and to slake the lust for violence and suffering that Beria had unwittingly awoken in the strange one. Checking his pulse, he was actually _relieved_ then he did not find one, yet forced to look away quickly lest his stomach rebel, for his companion had been mutilated most brutally, and yet his face, his face was exactly what you would _not _expect to see on one so cruelly murdered, for his lips were turned upwards, no crease marred his brow – he seemed asleep, serene, at peace, as if he slept in the arms of an angel, thought Rafno.

The other recruit appeared then, stopping short and flinging himself to his knees in a cloud of dirt - crying out his despair when he realized the wherefore of that last chilling scream, before the battle had broken out. He looked desperately at Rafno, who returned his gaze steadily as his eyes filled with tears, watching the truth dawn on the face of Beria's friend and comrade. Shocked to the core, the young warrior turned, his face a mask of unashamed rage as he stood and drew his sword with a mighty scream. They had killed his childhood friend – in the worst way he could imagine – the pain and suffering his poor brother had endured would fuel his wrath now, for he had not deserved such a cruel ending - vengeance and hatred propelled him forward into battle, after which he, would never be the same again.

Idhreno and Rafno were now armed, and Hwindo was out of it, although conscious enough to know what was going on, for no sooner had he guided Beria to peace, he had fallen back to the floor, as if that final act had squeezed the last of his strength from his abused body. He needed to get out of the fray, for as long as he was here, the others would risk their lives, either that or he would be used as leverage - reduced to nothing but a distraction that could cause his warriors their lives. Ram en' placed a hand over the commander's mouth as he pushed him upright, feeling the vibrations of the scream that was muffled by his own hand – they did not want to draw attention to themselves, yet Rafno was already kneeling down beside them, taking one look at the collarbone and grimacing, for rarely had he seen a break so cruel, yet when he met his friend's eyes, he was forced to jump back, before controlling himself, for the green eyes were shining in the dark, illuminated from within with a light so wondrous it momentarily struck him dumb, drew him in as all else faded into nothing – until Legolas closed his eyes, and the spell was instantly broken.

Shaking his head to rid himself of the last remnants of utter bliss he had just felt, he snapped back to reality, calling to his companion.

"Ram en', I will take him inside the tree line to the East, 'tis nearer, give me your boot knife."

With no time to ask why he would need that, he simply nodded, trusting him implicitly as he slapped the knife into the healer's hands and helped him get Hwindo on his feet. He smiled beautifully at Rafno then, before whirling on his heels and running into the battle that still raged, in the company of a battered Idhreno, and in search of the young recruit, lest his anger be the end of him.

Taking the bulk of Hwindo's considerable weight on himself, the two warriors made their unsteady way into the trees, yet once they arrived at the first trunks, Legolas refused to be helped any further.

"Rafno, leave me here, give me the knife and help them, my friend."

Rafno knew he was right, and he also knew that his friend's injuries were not life-threatening, even if they were most painful. Yet it felt unnatural to him to leave a patient in pain.

"Go, help our brothers, Rafno."

And that was all it took for Rafno to thrust himself into the whirling mass of entangled bodies, Beria's tender face in his mind's eye as he raised his sword and screamed his own Noldorin charge.

…..

Slash, lunge, turn, slice, stab – again, and again. Glammo was afire, all his training coming to the fore. He saw Lindo as he adjusted a hand, a foot, and then Glorfindel's face, shouting his instructions, Legolas as he corrected his footing - all that he had learned with his lover and those two, legendary warriors, and yet had never really used, until now. He was burning with the flame of ire, and yet with the precision of a master – this was '_equilibrium_' as Legolas had described, this was the deadly control that so marked his friend's fighting, a style he now recognized in himself, as he dealt death to any and all that approached him. He fought like a demon, his dark hair whirling around him as his strong arms drove the metal of his sword into the black bodies of his opponents, again and again. His body moved as it had never done before in battle, as water flows over rock, fluid and powerful. It was an odd, alien feeling, so different from all those centuries of fighting in the same style. His previous mindset had been broken in every possible way, and now, he took them down, one after the other, only the Uruks giving him a semblance of a fight.

The tide was turning and the battle was finally winding down; the orcs had been slain, save for the last few, who battled hopelessly with the empowered elves. And there, in the middle of it all, was Rafno. He had never killed so many, so quickly and so efficiently, and this last orc would be no exception, yet just as he cut it down, he was distracted by a desperate cry…

"Rafnooo!" He whirled on his heel, only to come face to face with the blonde Uruk, his nose but inches away from the wet snout. He was too close, he knew, he would feel the cold slice of metal through his flesh any second now, and so he stood, shocked that his life could end so suddenly. Yet the smirk on the beast's face suddenly vanished, as the point of a knife appeared at the base of its neck, between its two collar bones, and then Rafno felt the spray of blood on his face, hot and sticky. The vile abomination disappeared then, as it sunk to the ground, a long, thin knife traversing its neck, its life force spraying out onto the moist ground as it twitched, and then stilled, its face a mask of utter shock.

Looking ahead, he saw his savior, a strong blonde warrior whose arm was still poised after having thrown the knife with a precision Rafno had never seen. The blonde gazed upon him with a mischievous, feral gleam in his eyes, eyes that spoke of joy, and yet grief, and pain, for his body was ablaze in throbbing bruises, cuts, fractured bones, and a snapped collar bone.

Rafno smiled then, how Legolas had managed _that_ was beyond him – yet he had, with the grace of Ram en's boot knife; the battle was won, and they had been rescued, against the odds, and the object of their torture – his savior, still stood when _they_ had fallen. Moments later, a triumphant roar resounded around the glade and beyond, as victory was called, and the aftermath began…

…..

He remembered his inner thoughts from just the day before. 'Darkness is the purposeful and visible infliction of pain upon the innocent', and Rafno could see it now, on the face of their victim, for Hwindo barely stood, his face a grimace of pain and suffering, yet the look in his eye told Rafno he was not going to let himself fall, for to do so would be to draw attention to himself, and he knew that Legolas would avoid that at all cost.

Rafno lunged forward then, supporting him just in time before his legs gave way, the extra support of his friend's arms preventing him from sinking to the floor, and so he smiled and nodded.

"Ah, just in time - _healer_, now if you can get - my sorry self away from here - I will follow - your every command, - _my friend_," he said, as he struggled to draw in the air he needed.

"You had better, for now, _you_ are the patient_, I,_ am the healer, and _Dima_ is in charge."

Duly warned, Hwindo allowed himself to be guided by Rafno to a copse of shady trees. Elladan was not about to lead him straight into the healing tent that was already being erected, for he knew that Legolas would simply not relax, and for what he needed to do now, that would not be good. On their way there, Ram en' approached with the intention of helping, yet stopped to first inspect his commander, before turning his eyes back to Rafno.

"You are a fearsome sight, my friend," he smirked at Rafno, for his face was covered in the now drying blood of his would-be assassin.

Ignoring the comment completely, Rafno told him what he needed. "Ram en', I need water and my pack of healing supplies – did you retrieve our mounts?"

"Indeed we did, thanks to Hwindo. I will fetch it for you," he said, sparing one last calculated glance at his commander, before trotting away.

"You are a good leader, Rafno. The warriors - heed you - as if it were - the natural thing to do," said Legolas, his voice somewhat strained, for he was making a noteworthy effort to stay on his own two feet.

"My circumstances have changed. Here, I do not have the onus of being the son of the ruler, here, I can be myself, free from the stress that comes with expectation."

"And when you - return - will you change?"

"Nay, for my confidence has come to the fore, there is no turning back, my friend."

"Good," he trailed off, the strain of walking and talking suddenly becoming too much.

Just then, Idhreno found them, running forward to help Rafno as he lowered his friend softly to sit beneath the tree he had noticed previously, an involuntary moan escaping Hwindo at the stabbing pain in his chest as he sat. The area was partially shaded from the camp, yet close enough to be safe, it would give them a modicum of privacy at least.

Idhreno sat on the other side of the commander and silence reined for a moment. The three were united once more, yet Beria was not there, and now, in the wake of battle, as the adrenalin finally left them, it all came back, and Rafno took a shuddering breath as he looked to the floor.

"Rafno," called Idhreno softly. "Was it your first time?" he asked.

"As a captive? Yes. Yet it brought to my mind the ordeal of my mother, for we found her in similar circumstances – "

"Are you alright, my friend?" prompted Idhreno, watching his companion closely.

It took Elladan a moment to answer, and when he did so, it was the truth. "Idhreno, I am alright, yet I am greatly saddened, somewhat overwhelmed, and – and confused, I will admit."

"Had you answered any differently, I would be concerned," he smiled then. Rafno wondered at the strength this elf possessed – for they been through much, had witnessed an act of a foulness that would turn the stomachs of most, and affect the mind with nightmare and strange imaginings – yet this, lieutenant of The Company, was enquiring after his welfare.

"Hwindo, what – what happened?" asked the Wise Warrior then, turning his worried attention on his commander.

"You, it seemed, I mean, I think I saw – in your eyes, in your voice, you did – something I cannot comprehend…"

Rafno watched Idhreno closely, for he was attempting to put into words what he, too, had witnessed, and was mentally flailing just as badly as his companion was, for Rafno had not only seen it, but had _felt_ it when he had first approached Hwindo, his eyes still aflame – he remembered the overwhelming sensation of utter peace and bliss, he remembered the eyes that drew him inexorably to _look_, and the voice that prevailed over all else that surrounded him – it was what Beria must have felt in those final moments that would have been a living hell, had it not been for Legolas.

"Hwindo," began Rafno, the light of truth suddenly dawning on him even as he spoke, "there was _magic_ in your eyes and in your voice – I felt it myself before it waned. You – you _shepherded _him – didn't you? You took his attention away from the real world and helped him upon the way – you…" Rafno could not continue, for his voice broke and his eyes had filled with tears, his throat constricting painfully.

"Peace, Rafno," whispered the Forest Lord then, for he could not express himself right now in any other way that was not a moan of pain. "We will talk – later…"

Ram en', meanwhile, was returning with Rafno's pack. He passed Gondien on the way and placed a brotherly hand on the captain's chest, to which the captain nodded and smiled. However, a waft of cooked meat and grease suddenly hit Ram en' squarely in the nose, making it wrinkle and move a little to the side. Gondien's face, however, now showed no emotion at all; nodding once more at the lieutenant, he walked away to his duties, his right hand rummaging inside his leather jerkin for the treasure still within.

Ram en' called the rest of the company to him, save for Dima, who was busy organizing the clean up. He had picked up a few other things that would be needed, and soon the entire detachment was approaching the tree under which their brothers sat. Yet they stopped short at the scene that was playing out before them. Rafno and Idhreno wept openly as they clasped their hands together with one of Hwindo's, the three warriors joined in shared grief, yet also in awe, for two had been witness to an event that would remain with them always, as the others would soon find out.

Kneeling before them, Ram en' set the water and pack on the floor, yet he remained silent, just as his brothers behind him did, letting the three ex-captives, express their emotions for the first time in two days. Ram en' knew what it was to spend so much time ignoring pain and suffering, keeping up the mask of indifference that in no way reflected the inner turmoil they had suffered.

It was Idhreno who sighed first and lowered his hand, turning to the newcomers and smiling sadly.

"Brothers, I am so very glad to see you," he said, a watery smile gracing his bruised face, words that immediately had them all shuffling towards Rafno and Idhreno, embracing them fiercely, yet not daring to touch their commander. "And we are so very glad to see you whole, and almost hail," replied Ram en', "although Hwindo here I am not sure about."

Rafno snapped out of his own remembered misery as he turned to his friend, horrified that he had left him there to suffer so long.

Hwindo leant against the trunk, his eyes now closed in an obvious attempt to calm the pain, and for the first time in his life, he found himself actually wishing that someone would set his shoulder, for he was beginning to lose feeling in it, the sensation unnerving him.

Launching himself into his healer's pack, he pulled out cloths and two bottles.

"Ram en', I need a fire, and – two cups, oh, and a bowl, if you can find one - and _food,_ brother, _food_…"

With a smile, Nanern and Pengon left in search of what was needed, while Ram en' rose to find wood for the hearth. Rafno turned once more to his friend.

"Hwindo, this, break is serious. I cannot fix it here, for the bones need to be pulled back into place – I do not have the tools or the herbs for such a thing, and so for now, I will clean and immobilize it as best I can, and relocate your shoulder."

"Alright," he replied warily, yet he had the impression there was more to come, and he was right.

"Also," he hesitated a moment before continuing, "it is a two day ride back to the fortress; in two days, the risk of infection is great. The snap seems to be clean, but the bone is exposed, and I would be surprised if you did not fall with a fever before we arrive."

"Alright," he said again, wondering where Elladan was going with his clinical explanations.

Elladan chuckled before continuing. "All I am saying, my friend, is that you need to be careful on the way back. No sudden movements lest you puncture a lung, and if you feel fevered you must tell me, for if you fall from your horse, you could kill yourself."

"Alright," he said for the third time, by now totally disinterested in what his friend was saying. He could not think straight let alone listen to anyone right now. Rafno understood immediately and so he did not insist. The others, however_, had_ listened as they watched Ram en' build their fire. They spared a glance of complicity between themselves, vowing to ensure that their commander did not try to do more than his health permitted, as was his penchance.

"Your fire," said Ram en'.

The healer nodded, knowing that no force of nature would move this Wall of Stone, or indeed any of them now from where they sat, straight-backed and defiant.

"Boil some water for me, Ram en'," he instructed, as he continued to work. They had been 'lucky' enough that Legolas had not been clothed when his injuries were provoked, saving him the painful procedure of removing them. Any cuts and bruises on his legs could wait until they returned.

"Come, Hwindo, lie down for me."

Rafno helped his friend into a horizontal position upon the abundant blankets that had been laid out for him. The movements were painfully slow, his muscles taut, stiffened by the constant pain and apprehension of what he knew was coming. Finally flat on his back, he let out a mighty heave of air.

Pouring the now boiling water into two cups, Ram en' approached and set them down beside the healer, who threw in the herbs he would need and placed them to one side to steep.

"Will you help me, Ram en'" he asked quietly as he began to maneuver his friend onto his side.

A brief nod was all the answer he got, as Ram en' knelt down before his commander, placing a hand over his neck and another on his flank, while Rafno gripped his arm in an all too familiar position. Nodding briskly at Ram en', who pressed down firmly, he pulled out and around until the socket slipped back into its proper place, garnering a pained shout from Hwindo below, his entire body stiffening even further, before relaxing completely, pain and exhaustion beginning to win the battle for supremacy. However many times Hwindo had been through this, he had never managed to stifle the yell of pain that accompanied the relocation of a shoulder, and today was no exception.

The Company kept their faces impassive, except for Glammo, whose lips curved downwards involuntarily in sympathy.

Dipping a cloth into the water, Elladan began his healing, as he washed the cuts and bruises with the warm, antiseptic water at his side, talking quietly to his silent friend as the rest of them began to prepare food and condition their camp as comfortably as possible. Soon, the soothing smells of hot stew were infusing the area, just as the other troops set about their own meals.

Rafno paused for a moment, as a wave of dizziness and tiredness hit him, and Pengon saw it.

"Come, sit here a while and eat," he encouraged, smiling kindly to the red-faced healer. "You do look like a demon of Morgoth, Rafno, here, clean yourself," he said, holding out a fresh cloth.

Taking it, he began to wipe his face, letting the fresh water revive him.

It was Koron en' who moved over to Hwindo, taking the cloth from the bucket and resuming Rafno's work. "I will take over for a while, brother – take your rest," he said quietly. "Should he eat?" he added as an afterthought.

"Not yet, Koron en', I still have a few things to see to." What he meant was that he needed to set the ribs and immobilize his shoulder, two painful processes that were not advisable on a full stomach.

Accepting the bowl of steaming food, Rafno dug the wooden spoon into it violently, sending drops of hot sauce into the air, before devouring the contents, uncaring of the sauce that covered his lips – he was ravenous after two days of fasting, grabbing the hunk of bread that a smirking Nanern held out to him, he stuffed it into his now bulging mouth.

Idhreno looked on, a small smile gracing his bruised face, for he had done much the same just moments before.

The dull scraping sounds of wood against wood told them all that Rafno had finally reached the bottom of the bowl. Setting it down on the floor, he righted himself and let out the mightiest burp that Glammo had ever heard, so loud it echoed around the glade and sent The Company into fits of laughter, garnering a few snickers from those troops closest to them.

Rafno smiled ruefully, it had not been purposeful, rather it had escaped him with a force he had been unable to hold back, and glad of it he was, too, for now, he felt much better. The laughter had also served to break the strange spell that had descended over them, and now, they all sat back and began to truly relax.

The healer returned to Hwindo's side, who turned and smiled up at him before speaking softly.

"That was a mighty roar in the dark, my friend. In future circumstances, I will surely mortify you for it…" he smiled weakly, as Rafno watched him carefully while he worked.

"You would not, and if you did, I would have sweet revenge, Hwindo, make no mistake," he said, glad the mood had lightened so much.

Covering the horrific break with a wet cloth, he pushed Legolas into a sitting position slowly, feeling his chest creak oddly as he did so. The heavy head fell back onto his shoulder as he let out a shuddering breath. "Just a little longer, my friend," said Rafno, "just a while longer."

…..

Earlier, they had taken turns to help clear the camp, burn the bodies, and, for their part, slice off the head of the blonde Uruk, spitting it upon a pike and displaying it towards the south, for all to see. Melven, of course, had turned away for that particular procedure, for although he heartily agreed with the sentiment, the sickly sound of wood entering dead flesh and tissue simply turned his stomach.

Glammo accepted the tea that Lindo passed him gratefully, the mint would calm his stomach and the warmth would sooth his frayed nerves, yet it also set his mind to wandering. The past two days had been fraught with tension, flight and fighting - everything had happened so quickly, with not a moment to sit quietly and reflect on the events that had brought them here, now, before this fire. Since emerging from what The Company called Mirkwood, those southern regions were the trees were rotting, slowly falling under the shadow the Tower, they had had but two days of travelling before Legolas had sensed the destruction of Brethil. Nanern's mad dash through the forest in search of Barabor, and then getting trapped between the orc encampment and a group approaching from behind, his companions' capture and torment – the loss of Beria… what a first ride it had been, one he knew he would never forget, and yet one he knew marked the beginning of a new era for him – for he began to think that perhaps _this_ was where is heart lay now, in this forest of stark contrasts – light and dark, verdant life and black death, utter bliss and despair… life was intense here, lived to the full, enjoyed and suffered to its limits and he was suddenly addicted to it, drawn from the years of mundane life with his mate, like a moth to the flame of _life_.

Turning, he found Lindo staring at him, a subtle smile on his lovely face.

"Are you well, Glammo?" asked the Bard Warrior, his eyes searching those of his lover for any sign of distress. He had found it after that first foray into the Mirkwood, yet now, Lindo was not so sure.

"I am well, Lindo, I simply ponder these last few days of madness, 'tis the first time I have been able to sit, at peace for a moment to put my thoughts in order."

"And are they? In order?"

"Not quite," he said, smiling beautifully at his lover, for he longed to tell him what his heart was screaming, but he could not, not here. It would have to wait, but Lindo's face brightened of a sudden, and it seemed to Glammo that he _knew_.

…

Half an hour later and Rafno had bound Hwindo's chest and placed the damaged arm in a high, tight-fitting sling, leaving his patient in the strong arms of Koron en', while Nanern pulled a comb through the tangled and matted hair. Lindo struck up a soft song that carried throughout the glade, soothing nerves and relaxing minds, and a soft smile began to appear upon the faces of veterans and recruits alike. _They_, of course, did not know, but Lindo's voice was especially sweet this night, especially heart-felt as he sung of love, of _his_ love, one he was now convinced was reciprocated.

They had all eaten, their commander had been tended to, and now, they sat before the fire in a close circle.

"You have done well, Rafno," began Dima. "You endured the captivity, you fought bravely and you are a great healer. We, your brothers, wish to tell you that we are proud to ride with you – we know you cannot stay beyond the exchange program, but to us, you will always be a part of The Company." As he finished the words, he held Rafno's surprised gaze, smiling just a little, his eyes glinting meaningfully.

Rafno smiled back then, looking at each of them and observing an identical expression on their faces.

"And I will always wear this," he said, placing his hand over his armband, "that I may never forget my Greenwood brothers," he finished, holding their gazes, showing them his utter sincerity, for he meant every word he had said.

"You know," said Nanern, breaking the solemn moment, "this recruit here, has also comported himself most bravely. During our life or death odyssey through the woods, he showed his physical endurance, his brave heart, and when we arrived in Barabor's realm and we dismounted, I told him that we would get our brothers back. I saw then the face of a wild one, ferocious and dangerous, as a mountain puma, readied for the pounce - for he smiled and said to me that _he _would help me. I was struck then at the power of his mien, for it seemed to me that he would strike terror in the hearts of our foes. Brothers - _this_, is Rhrawthir, Fierce Face."

Rhrawthir's eyes were round as he waited for Nanern to finish his tale, he had been baptized, finally, the last member to be named. He liked it, he thought then, for it sounded good, just like his brothers' warrior names, so long as you did not know the story behind them…

Yet Beria's loss weighed heavily upon his heart, and the smile promptly faded into an expression of grief as he lowered his eyes to the floor.

"Speak, Rhrawthir," prompted Dima. "Tell us your thoughts."

"I, I cannot, Captain, for the sadness in my heart has my mind in a turmoil, I know not what to say," he said, lifting his pleading eyes to Dima.

"You grieve for Beria, your friend, you grieve for his suffering, in those final moments…"

"I, …" he faltered as tears sprang from his desperate eyes with a force he could never have stopped.

"You grieve because although you knew he could die, you never imagined it would be in that manner, did you?" he insisted.

"They cut him open before his _very eyes_! His guts spilling to the ground as he _watched!_ _Alive,_ by the love of Elbereth," he began, spewing out his ire and his grief, "where is the mercy of the Valar, Captain? _Where?_" he screamed those final words, his eyes wide, begging him to answer.

Quietness descended over the glade then, for they had heard Rhrawthir's raw pain as he spat out the words his captain had wrenched from him.

It was Idhreno who broke the silence in a voice so soft only The Company and those closest to them could here.

"Rhrawthir – I, _we_, have a tale to tell you, brother, if you will listen?" he asked, seeking the warrior's tear-filled eyes with his own.

At a jerky nod, Idhreno accepted a cup of steaming tea from Lindo.

"Rhrawthir, what I and Rafno witnessed in those final moments of torment will stay with me, with us, always, but not for the reasons you think – for you see," he paused as his own flesh tingled at the memory of it, "you see, they were filled with _light_, with the light of a _Vala,_ my friend," he smiled widely now, "do you wish to hear the tale?" he asked again, the smile not leaving his lips.

The circle of warriors were now watching Idhreno closely, eager for the telling, for something had happened out there that they were not aware of, that only those captive had experienced, they had sensed as much when they had found the three under the tree earlier that evening.

Hwindo simply turned his eyes to the floor, unsure if he wanted to hear it himself, yet so tired he could not bring himself to protest. Besides, he understood why Idhreno did it, for Rhrawthir was traumatized by the nature of his friend's death, he needed to hear it, and so he relaxed back into Koren en's arms as the tale began to unfold, abstracting himself from the telling and enjoying a brief moment of comfort, for Rafno's potion was working miracles and he soon found himself in a state of semi-vigil, eyes half-lidded and mouth slack, his wild hair partially covering his battered face.

"You see, Rhrawthir. Beria was of _true heart_, so much so that he could not stand the suffering that was being inflicted on Hwindo, you see, the beast was clever, inflicting not only physical pain, but mental anguish too, for it promised many things, none of them good… Beria was of _true heart_ and his tears sprang forth, his suffering so great it brought about his own torment. Yet as the blade entered his flesh and he screamed…." He wavered here a moment, before he controlled himself once more. "We all realized what it would do then, and _that_ is when it started, for I looked to Rafno, who was looking at Hwindo, drawing my attention to him also…"

"What was it? What did you see?" asked Lindo slowly, taking a sip of hot tea.

"Rafno?" prompted Idhreno, drawing his fellow captive into the tale that now had them all captivated, the warriors from the hearths nearby leaning towards them, not wishing to be rude, but unable to forego the story that was unraveling.

Breathing deeply, he took up the tale, pausing a moment to collect his thoughts, for how to put into words those moments? He would never be able to express it in such a way as to garner the same emotions in his brothers as it had with him, yet he would try, for Rhrawthir, he would try.

"Hwindo should not have been able to move, let alone sit up, yet there he was, staring at Beria who was watching the Uruk at his feet. His eyes shone from _within_, Rhrawthir, a soft mist forming before them, as he opened his mouth to speak, and when he did, the voice was strong, powerful, commanding. 'Beria, look at me, warrior,' he said over and over – and he _did_! In spite of it all, what should have been terrible pain and suffering turned to stupor, and Beria stared only at our Lord, his face showing no sign of pain, my friend…"

Idhreno took up the tale once more, looking off to the side, remembering as he spoke.

"He told him it would soon be over, to look to the stars, for they shone for _him_, Rhrawthir," he said emphatically as he smiled through the tears that once more began to flow from his eyes. "And in those final moments, when the beasts befouled our brother's body, he told him to go to them, and to peace, at last…"

"I saw his face, Rhrawthir," continued Rafno. "I saw his serene face as he tilted his head backwards and smiled, before his eyes closed and he slipped away…"

There was absolute silence now, the crackling of the fires and the sniffling of those that cried, yet could not rip their eyes away from Idhreno and Rafno…

"Rhrawthir," said Idhreno finally, "remember the beginning of our tale, and remember well, you see, the last moments of True Heart Beria, were filled with light, with the light of a Vala, my friend," he finished, staring at the young warrior, who stared back through his tears.

"Who?" he whispered reverently.

Idhreno smiled as he looked to Rafno for confirmation. "By Yavanna's grace, our Lord guided Beria into the light."

The harsh intakes of breath brought Hwindo back to the present from where he had been lingering, turning his aching head to the circle of warriors that now watched him in awe and Koron en' tightened his hold on him just a little.

"I pleaded to my Lady for mercy, brothers, and in her infinite love, she granted it. Praise her, if you will, and know that our brother did not suffer, he died in the blissful arms of Kelementari."

Hwindo watched them all through half-lidded eyes. They sat as statues, lost to their own thoughts, beautiful and feral in the orange glow and the dancing shadows of their camp. They were sad, yet strangely uplifted, overjoyed to hear the tale that would soon become a lay in the Greenwood in years to come. His own thoughts shifted to Imladris then, for such days of peace had he lived there, a peace he so longed for, fought desperately for, every day of his existence, yet he found himself weak now, and in that, rare moment, he closed his eyes as a wave of yearning infused him; he wanted to feel _his _strong arms wrapped around him, feel _his_ solid chest against his cheek, feel the steady hand smooth over his hair, he wanted – he wanted to _feel_ once more. Legolas cleared his mind then, lest it betray him, allowing a wave of exhaustion to hit him - Rafno's concoction was starting to take effect, and so he closed his tired eyes, breathed out softly, and fell into reverie in the protective arms of Koron en'. Next to him sat Nanern, who had already committed the details to memory. When next he told the tale, it would be his very own masterpiece.

And so they sat through the night. The odd warrior that passed their strange circle would later comment that it had seemed to them as though they meditated, sitting under the loving shelter of the trees, their king below them – their eyes sad – yet hopeful too, and just a little wiser.


	17. The Arms of an Angel

Chapter seventeen: The Arms of an Angel

The smell of food had set his stomach to protesting, even half asleep as he was. He had not eaten in over two days and he was ravenous. He felt the trunk behind him, and knew that he had not moved from the same position the entire night, for his muscles ached with a vengeance. He could feel his arm, bound tightly to his chest, throbbing mercilessly and setting his brow with a deep frown as he slowly opened his eyes, focusing on the silvery grey irises of his friend, just inches away from his own. The unmistakable aroma of steeping herbs came to him as Rafno broke the silence.

"Here, drink this slowly," he instructed, producing a cup of steaming liquid, his eyes searching those of his waking friend, before standing once more and moving away to the other wounded elves and their healers.

Hwindo brought it to his lips, blowing softly as he pulled his knees up, shifting uncomfortably before taking a tentative sip of the brew. It wasn't that bad, he decided, as he sniffled, for his nose hurt and his eye pulsated with every beat of his heart.

Dima sat beside him then, giving him an appraising look, before handing him an apple, which Hwindo snatched up, taking a small bite, for his lip was split.

"Perhaps I should take charge, Hwindo," said Dima, wondering if his lord would acquiesce.

Turning towards the captain, Hwindo thought for a moment before nodding.

"Yes, that would be wise, Dima," he admitted, remembering Rafno's words from the evening before. Taking charge of three detachments required of a leader much energy and concentration, and he had neither of those things.

Smiling and nodding, Dima stood, bound for the main camp, for they would move out in a scant few minutes in order to take advantage of the daylight hours. The three captains had decided that The Company would journey together with Barabor and Gondien a little further north; then, they would separate, leaving The Company to continue home, together with the injured from the Eastern and Western detachments, and their respective healers. All in all, thirty of them were to return, more than half of them bound for the healing halls; Antien and Balentar were going to be busy, thought Dima, resolving to send forward a runner once they were closer to the fortress, for they would need to make preparations. It was not something they did lightly though, for they knew the anguish this caused to family and friends at home, yet it could not be helped. The healers needed some forewarning of what to expect, and then Beria's family need to be informed, before they heard it from someone else.

And so it was that after lunch, the three detachments slowed to a halt, for here, they would part ways. Dima placed one hand on Barabor's forearm and another on Gondien, smiling at them both.

"You have done great service to the Greenwood and to The Company, my brothers, and we thank you and your warriors," he said, his voice carrying to the troops behind their captains, provoking wide smiles from them all, yet Dima had not finished.

"Warriors salute!" he yelled, startling the captains as their horses danced back.

Dismounting, The Company, with the exception of Hwindo, lined up before the eastern and western detachments, as they began their dance of defiance, their voices strong and proud, their movements powerful and skillful, and as they came to the end, they were joined by all that looked on for that final battle cry, setting the skin to tingling and lifting their morale more than any rallying speech ever could. As the last waves of sound echoed through the woods, Hwindo raised his good arm to the departing captains as they wheeled around and separated into two groups, one to the east, one to the west, their souls lifted and their hearts soaring, and as they cantered away and the silence broke, they began to speak of the day they fought with The Company.

Hwindo rode in the midst of those that returned to the fortress, along with the other wounded warriors. His spare shirt covered his back and shoulders, yet remained open at the front to accommodate his bound arm and shoulder. Some, like Hwindo, rode alone but others did so together with their companions, asleep or very nearly so, leaning back against their strong chests. He observed them all; they had, miraculously, suffered only one death, excellent results for such a battle, he knew, yet there were four with blade injuries that were serious, although not life-threatening. He committed the information to memory for the report he would give to his father and Bandorion, for he felt strangely out of himself and wondered if he would be able to stay awake and alert for the time it would take to get back.

Throughout the day, his warriors took their turns to ride abreast of him, handing him water or food, excuses to check on his state of health, he knew, and as the day wore on and the light began to fade, his body ached with a vengeance. He had managed on his own thus far but he was now secretly willing Dima to call a halt for the night. However, it was another half an hour before that came to pass, by which time Hwindo's face was pale, the skin under his eyes a sallow grey, his face set in a grimace that left little to the imagination. Glammo walked over to Hwindo's now still horse, holding his arm up for the commander to steady himself as he dismounted. However, he landed clumsily, and a treacherous moan escaped him before he could right himself.

Rafno and Pengon were upon him in a flash, holding their hands out to support him.

"It's alright, I just need to sit down, 'tis all," he reassured them.

"Then come," said Rafno, leading the small group towards a shady area near a stream, tactically the best place for the wounded. The other healers followed their lead then, until their makeshift healing halls were set up, their patients settled and attended to.

Game was readily available in this, well-protected area, and so Dima deployed hunters and foragers to provision them, while the others secured the camp and the watch was set. They would be safe here, and tomorrow, late afternoon, they would be home once more, the frigid body of their brother upon the sturdy back of his bereft mount.

….

The light of day had now completely disappeared and Hwindo dozed under a tree, Glammo, Ram 'en and Koron en' sitting close by.

Rafno, however, was moving amongst the wounded, conversing with the other healers, helping them when he could. He had not stopped since yesterday – 'he must be exhausted', thought Glammo, as he watched him from afar, for his lord had also endured captivity, and although he had not been tormented, the psychological toll had been taken – and he wondered then, if perhaps that was precisely why he had not stopped, for to do so would be to think about it, and to think about it would be to suffer. One glance at Dima told him that he was not the only one to have noticed Rafno's hyper-activity.

Pengon and Rhrawthir joined them then, having surrendered their string of rabbits and a bag full of wild vegetables, fruit and nuts to Idhreno, who, together with Lindo would prepare their food.

Sometime later, Dima's patience had come to its considerable limit, and so he approached Rafno, placing a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Come, Rafno, sit with us and take your ease, my friend," he encouraged.

"A moment, Captain, I would speak to…,"

"No, Lieutenant – come." It was not a request, as Rafno had assumed it to be, and so he simply nodded, and followed the Captain to their fire, leaving the other two healers with the wounded.

Sitting before the crackling fire, Rafno turned to the captain, understanding beginning to dawn on his face.

"Dima, I am well – you need not worry. 'Tis only that my father taught me well, and when there are wounded to be tended, I cannot, in all honesty, remain seated, 'tis beyond me," he said, frowning at Dima, willing him to see the truth of his words, and he did, for he nodded and smiled.

"Then forgive me for wrenching you away from your duties, but you have not stopped since your captivity, then the battle, and now the journey home – I would have you arrive whole and hail, Rafno. Eat with us at least, before you go back to them."

Smiling, he nodded; indeed the smells of the steaming bowls that were being distributed around the camp were sending his stomach into a frenzy.

He smiled up at Idhreno, who held out a bowl to him, which he accepted with both hands, in a sign of humble thanks.

The stew tasted like paradise to Rafno, as he shoveled the turnip, carrot and meat into his mouth, the gravy slipping down his throat as he savoured the tender vegetables, however, he paced himself a little better than the previous night when he had gorged himself and then made everyone laugh with his resulting flatulence. Now scraping the bottom of the bowl noisily, he was interrupted by Ram en's urgent voice.

"Rafno, come."

Turning his head, he realized that the warrior knelt over Hwindo, who was lying flat on the ground, his bowl of untouched food beside him.

Scurrying to his feet, he knelt down on the other side, not before handing the untouched bowl to Lindo, who sat staring at it longingly.

"It is as I suspected, infection has set in, and a fever has begun," he murmured as he placed one hand on the hot brow.

"Hwindo, are you awake?"

All he received was a slight movement of the head, nothing more.

"I need hot water in two cups, then a bucket of river water and cloths."

Pengon and Rhrawthir went to do his bidding, as Rafno looked to Dima.

"I should be able to control the fever with Boneset, but it will not relent until the bone is properly set. He will have to ride with me tomorrow, Captain."

"He will be uncomfortable with that, but you are right, Rafno. I encharge you then," he finished, sitting back and allowing the healer to work.

The camp settled down to rest, yet the fires remained. Rafno stayed close to Hwindo, who had mostly remained in a restless sleep, the herbs keeping the temperature from rising too high. At one point, Ram en' squeezed his shoulder, bidding him rest for a while, taking up the cloth and placing it softly on his lord's brow. Elladan nodded gratefully and stood, stretching his cramped muscles before moving to sit before the fire, beside Glammo and Lindo, who were both awake and talking quietly, careful not to disturb those that slept a little further away.

"How is he?" asked Glammo, his eyes remaining on the dancing flames.

"Poorly, Glammo. You know, his wounds could have been much worse given the circumstances, and yet few would have provoked such pain, and yet that is nothing in comparison to what is to come," he sighed as he began to make himself a mint tea.

"What do you mean?" enquired Lindo.

"I mean that once we are at the fortress, that bone must be aligned, Lindo. 'Tis no easy task for the technique is delicate, and yet it is the suffering it will inflict that makes it hard, my friend."

"Elbereth," he sighed. "What barbarity, what depravity and malice – you know, I have seen it so many times, and yet I have never really come to expect it – it is always a shock to me, after all these years."

"I suppose you just – bear it better than most, Lindo. I know that more than one of the younger warriors were deeply affected by the events leading up to our rescue – the anguish of waiting, the powerlessness to stop the torture being inflicted, and then the very nature of it."

Silence followed before Glammo broke it with a soft question of his own.

"Why did they kill Beria, Rafno? I mean, why not Hwindo?"

Elladan had been dreading this question, yet he had known that it would be posed, sooner or later; he did not want to tarnish Beria's name, and so he thought well before answering his friend's question, but he had hesitated so that both Lindo and Glammo now sat watching him openly, wondering at why he had not answered immediately.

"Beria was, hard pressed to shield his heart he, he broke down, his mental suffering such that it pushed the beast beyond its own limits to control its inbred desire to kill. It no longer sought information, only to satisfy what was, by then, its unbearable urge to destroy – it simply left Hwindo and poured all its savagery on Beria…"

"'Tis rule number one in our training, this you already know," began Lindo. "Both Idhreno and Hwindo would have seen that coming. The question is that you never know who will be on the receiving end, the one that breaks or some other, unwitting victim – they are unpredictable in that heightened state of frenzy."

"You speak truly, Lindo," said Rafno. "'Tis exactly what happened, for both Idhreno and Hwindo had tried to stop it, tried to bring him out of it, but he just – he just could not," he said emphatically as he looked at them both meaningfully," it was beyond him, was not in his nature."

Long moments of silence ensued as they pondered Beria's predicament, yet Glammo could no longer hold back the other question he needed to ask.

"Rafno," he said quietly. "What was it like, to witness a death so sweet as Idhreno related to us all…"

"It was – _magical_, my friend, and when the attack began and I knelt at Hwindo's side, the light was still in his eyes, and for one, brief moment," he said as he looked to them both, "for one brief moment, it was indescribable bliss."

Both warriors heard the words, and then smiled widely, pure joy gracing their faces, for if they had ever doubted, had ever felt the slightest glint of skepticism – now, there was none, it was as if death itself, had become a little easier to bear.

Rafno sipped on his mint tea, turning back momentarily to Ram en', who caught his gaze and nodded with a smile, 'no change then', he thought, and that was good, for from now until they got back, that was the only thing he could wish for.

…

Dawn crept upon them, and the camp slowly stirred, the healers taking stock of their patients and setting their herbs to steeping. Rafno had slept deeply, and now, his muscles ached from having stayed in the same place for too long.

He suddenly came face to face, albeit upside down, with Pengon, who bent over him, his face an unreadable mask. Waiting for Rafno to sit up, he placed a cup of steaming tea and a chunky bar of lembas in his hands before walking away to his duties.

Rafno smiled as he sipped slowly, his eyes straying to Hwindo's position, where Lindo and Glammo sat. Morning seemed to have brought a slight improvement, for although pale and drawn, Hwindo sat back against a tree, sipping tea.

It was a strange thing, he pondered, for it was so easy to slip into a routine with Hwindo. They had fought together, yes, but they had also shared the mundane things in life – eating, washing, drinking – and at those times, he was just another elf, of flesh and bone, a fellow warrior. And yet after the events of the previous evening, after what he and Idhreno had witnessed when Beria had perished, he was acutely reminded that this was not just another elf, another warrior – this elf was Yavanna's protégé, a king, blessed with green magic. He suspected he was not alone with these thoughts, for he thought his companions were treating Legolas with special respect today, and it seemed that his friend realized too, yet took it in his stride, for what to do? Experience had surely taught him that things would, eventually, return to their natural state, just as they had after his crowning in Imladris, for the very same thing had happened there.

One of Gondien's men had approached Dima and was now talking urgently with him.

"Captain, one of the wounded has worsened, we need to make haste," he reported.

"Alright, and Hwindo?" he turned to Rafno with questioning eyes.

"He seems better than yesterday. I will give him more Boneset and some birch bark for the pain. He hides it well, but he is in agony, Dima."

"Rafno, I have ridden with Hwindo for many centuries, I need no convincing," he smiled, watching as Rafno dipped his head in embarrassment, for 'what was he thinking'? Of course he would know, and so he returned the smile, albeit somewhat ruefully, to which Dima smirked openly now, clapping him on the shoulder before striding away to help lift the camp.

Sitting silently beside Hwindo, he appraised his patient as he began to fill a cup with hot water, selecting the herbs he would use and throwing them into the steaming liquid. His mind was also frantically searching for a way to tell his friend he would have to ride accompanied – by him.

"Relax, Rafno. I know what you would say," he said quietly.

Elladan chuckled as he answered his friend. "You have robbed me of my moment of glory, for I was about to spin a tale even Nanern would be proud of!" he said, yet Legolas did not respond to the joviality.

Sobering immediately, he reached for the herbs and handed them to Legolas, who reached out one, shaky hand, nodding his thanks and testing the temperature, before gulping it down.

"I will be back in a moment; do you need anything before we depart?"

"Nay, just a short journey to the trees and back."

His gaze lingering on the subdued commander, Elladan went in search of Dima for the order of the day. He found him taking council with the healers.

"Captain," he acknowledged, as he waited patiently for Dima to finish.

"Rafno," he nodded.

"Captain, what is our plan for the day?"

"We ride in ten minutes, at a moderate pace, for time is of the essence for some. And before you say it, I know that a slower pace would be more comfortable for most, but Maethor's life is in the balance and we must strike a compromise. We should arrive mid-evening."

"I understand, will we stop on the way?"

"Frequently, but briefly."

"Alright, thank you, Captain."

"You are welcome, Rafno."

It had been short, sharp and efficient, yet Dima had taken all the decisions he himself would have, and so he walked back to Hwindo, who he found leaning against the tree, on his feet, his bow and quiver in one hand.

"Rafno, can you strap this to our mount, oh, and this," he said, pointing at Yaavan, which was propped up against the same tree.

"Of course, we leave in ten minutes."

….

Legolas held his seat for the first part of the journey, in which he distracted himself by asking his friend of his life, of his relationship with Galdithion, what he would do once he returned to Imladris. Elladan had satisfied his curiosity in the knowledge that he did it to distract himself from the pain and the fever, yet truth be told, he had not minded at all.

However, as the day progressed and after various stops along the way, Legolas became quieter and quieter. Elladan felt the heat emanate from his body, felt his muscles slacker as his head began to loll from one side to another, and so he slowly snaked one arm around his friend's chest. It was a strange moment, for this was an intimate gesture in his culture, one only lent by lovers or close friends. However there was no protest, indeed quite the contrary, as the Forest Lord leaned back against his friend's solid chest, allowing his head to rest against his sturdy shoulder and stop the retched swaying. He felt safe, anchored to solid rock, and he surrendered, for his body ached, and his mind wandered, and the face of his love came to his mind's eye.

"Glorfindel," he whispered, before closing his eyes.

Elladan increased the pressure of his arm around his friend's torso, for he was falling into fevered reverie, and he knew he would not be contested, and as the name of his legendary friend escaped the fevered lips, he smiled indulgently at the momentary loss of control, for Legolas, in his moment of weakness, had called upon his strength, his Noldorin Lord, his Golden Sacrifice.

…

Hours later, and the company of warriors now traversed the more densely populated areas of the Greenwood, marking their relative proximity to the fortress. Dima chose the moment to send Rhrawthir ahead to warn of their imminent arrival and of the numbers and nature of their wounded. Dima had chosen him because as a close friend of Beria, he would be able to break the news to his family, rather than leaving them to find out by chance when they arrived.

"Rhrawthir, ride with haste, report to Antien and Commander Bandorion, speak with our fallen brother's kin, and then seek us out in the halls of healing."

"Aye, Captain," he saluted formally, earning himself a nod from his Captain as he wheeled his steed northwards and galloped away in a cloud of dust.

Those sharing the same road swiftly moved off to the side, placing their hands over their hearts when they caught sight of the wrapped body transported on one of the mounts and whispering silent prayers for safe passage. Those on foot watched them as they passed, bowing or holding out their hands as if to touch from afar, watching in concern as the wounded rode before their comrades, some unconscious, others awake yet wishing they were not. Yet this time, there was no humble acknowledgement from The Company, for they had neither the time nor inclination for pleasantries, their mission was dire.

Each member of The Company was acutely aware of their commander's progress in the arms of their healer, Rafno. His health had deteriorated in the last hours, and was now insensate, held aloft by the strength of their comrade's arms. His glorious hair, however tussled it was, fanned out over Rafno's shoulder, giving the impression the Noldo wore a mantle of gold, strangely erotic to the eyes of Glammo, who rode behind them. Yet they all wore a stern grimace upon their faces, for the journey had been unexpectedly hard, and alas, they had lost a brother.

The injured warrior that had so worried the healers that same morning was faring worse, they would need to increase their pace if they were to avoid a second death on this mission, and so Dima called for more speed and The Company moved from a brisk trot to a loping canter, as the first rays of orange began to bathe the now healthy forest in the waning light of day. Just a few more hours and they would deliver their brothers to the healing halls and blessed recovery.

…..

Thranduil sat in his office, Aradan and Bandorion before him as they briefed their king on the events at the council and barracks.

It was Aradan who was relating an argument that had exploded between two advisors over the importation of dairy products from Dale, while Bandorion sat staring out of the window, thoroughly bored with the chief advisor's explanations. It was then that he noticed the gates opening, the operators turning the wheels frantically – something was wrong, he thought, as his body tensed, and Thranduil's attention was garnered.

"What is it?" he asked.

"The gates, the gates are being opened with urgency…a member of The Company rides in with all haste."

Thranduil closed his eyes to steady his violently thudding heart. A runner had been sent ahead, and he knew what that meant, and although it sounded selfish even unto his own ears, he prayed it was not his son that warranted the urgency.

They had been expecting The Company back in two or three days – the fact that they were arriving before meant something had, indeed, gone wrong.

"Go, Commander, and report to me immediately."

"Yes, my Lord," bowed the commander, striding from the king's offices, bound for the gates.

…..

Rhrawthir had arrived, disheveled, covered in dust and out of breath – his heart in his mouth for the news he was to deliver…

As he dismounted, he was met by Antien, whose quick perusal of the warrior told him he was well, tired and heavy of heart, but well, and so he cocked his head to the side in silent enquiry.

Remembering his training, he proceeded to give his report in succinct yet direct key words. "The Company rides two hours behind me. They carry 15 wounded, Commander Legolas amongst them, one serious sword injury, and – one death," he finished, his voice failing him as he bowed his head in sorrow.

Antien's face fell as his eyes widened. "Who," he whispered.

Facing the healer once more and calming himself as he had been taught to do, he squared his shoulders and pronounced the name that Idhreno had used to tell the tale of his friend's last moments.

"True Heart Beria," he said proudly, his voice wavering slightly as his eyes filled with unshed tears.

Antien dipped his head, for the lad had been new to The Company, his first mission, the son of an Evergreen Wood forester.

A hand on his shoulder brought Antien back to the present as he acknowledged the presence of Prince Bandorion.

"My Lord," began Antien. I will inform you of the events, yet I beg you give leave to… uh…," faltered Antien, for he realized he knew not the warrior's name.

Bandorion was about to answer for him, yet he was beaten to it.

"I, am Rhrawthir."

'Indeed', thought Bandorion as his eyebrows rose - this young one had already earned himself his warrior name. There was a story to be had here, for sure.

"Indeed, Rhrawthir; my Lord, Rhrawthir has a sad duty to perform, for Beriadan is lost and he was a good friend. Allow him to warn the family before their son is brought home?"

"Of course, Rhrawthir. Report to me once it is done."

"Yes, my Lord," he said, as he mounted once more, his destination, the outlying village where Beria's family were to be found.

….

The time that his brother had taken to obtain information and return to his offices seemed as a lifetime to Thranduil, who paced the room anxiously, while Aradan sat watching him. Lainion had arrived not five minutes ago and now joined the small family in their seemingly interminable wait.

A brisk knock had them all on their feet before Bandorion, watching him for any sign of tragedy, and they found it.

"What has happened," asked Thranduil slowly.

Both Aradan and Lainion had subconsciously moved to stand closer to their king, for if anything had happened to Legolas…

"My Lord. The Company approach with haste, to arrive in less than two hours. Commander Legolas is injured but his life is not in danger. There are 15 wounded, one seriously so, and one loss, my Lord, one 'True Heart Beria'…"

Thranduil's eyes were wide, his mouth slightly open, for his heart beat so fast the need for air was making him breathe hard.

"Rhrawthir has gone to inform his family before the arrival, and Antien and Balentar are warned of what to expect. We are drafting in other available healers, and the other families are being informed now. Shall I make arrangements for the funeral rites tomorrow, my Lord?"

It was no time for jubilation, and yet Thranduil's heart flipped in joy when he had heard that simple afterthought… 'his life is not in danger'. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing himself this one gesture of weakness, for his brother knew him well, envied him even, for the relationship he had with his son, one that Bandorion had never had, thanks mainly to his ex-bonded mate.

What ensued was a flurry of activity – each elf going about his business, making preparations for horses, for the injured, the kitchens were preparing to make food fit for convalescing elves, families were being informed, herbs were being collected, water set to boiling, warriors taken off leave to form an itinerary detachment to cover the gaps left by The Company until they were fit to return. The list was long, yet so were the years the Greenwood had suffered so many similar situations, it was second nature to them now, efficient as no others when it came to warfare and its aftermath. All they needed to do now, was to wait, for soon, the tense calm would be over, and the healing and grieving would begin.


	18. Into the Light

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Into the Light

No sooner had the king deployed his people, and the first shouts were heard at the gates as the mechanism was put into motion once more, the door guards turning the wheels frantically as they watched the party thunder towards sanctuary. Thranduil's hair prickled uncomfortably at what was to come. So many times they had done this, and yet so many times he was still as affected as the first day he had seen it, for funeral rites in the Greenwood were a strange affair. If one had no previous experience, it was something to remember your entire immortal life. Just as almost everything that took place here, their customs were a mix of Sylvan spiritualism, Sindarin pomp, and Avarin rites of passage. The result was a spine-chilling crucible of symbolism, singing, homage and mourning that was not easily forgotten.

The king stood together with Aradan, Lainion, his niece Alaste, and a very pale-looking Galdithion who had only just been briefed of the events, still panting wildly from his mad dash across the grounds. No mention had been made of Elladan, only that Legolas was wounded but not gravely so. Galdithion's heart raced at the possibility that his lover could be that serious blade wound that this – Rhrawthir – had reported, and so he closed his eyes for a moment and steadied his frantic heart, until nothing could be noticed on the outside, a skill he had honed by simply observing his older, more experienced companion Lainion, a true master of the art.

Bandorion and his captains also stood off to one side, leaving room for the now considerable group of family members who anxiously awaiting their injured. And then of course, there were the simply curious, who were not allowed to approach and were being contained by Galdithion's home guard. They were mostly the same characters, mothers with young daughters, looking for a match, admirers of this or that warrior, all hoping to lend a hand in the hopes of establishing future ties.

They could hear the hooves now, and moments later, the group slowly became visible, first in the form of a cloud of dust, which then began to take shape in the form of mounted warriors, and in their midst, protected by those that were still hail, the injured and their healers. One of them was unconscious, his arms out to the sides, his head protected by the healer who rode behind.

The others were awake for the most part, including the commander, whose shirt flapped in the breeze, revealing the white bandages below. However, what startled the king was his face. It was covered in cuts and bruises, and what worried him even more, was how pale he looked, his eyes shadowed, reflecting the pain his face refused to show. He wanted to take his child in his arms and hold him, smooth back his hair and tell him everything was alright, that he loved him, that there was no one he loved more – but he could not, for he was king, and his son commander. Their duty was now to their people – there would be time later for them both, he would see to it, and if he could not, he knew that Lainion, Aradan or Galdithion would.

Galdithion too, was searching his friend's face, his eyes moving slowly downwards until he had taken in the bound arm and chest, the ragged cuts and deep bruises, the pained yet stubborn features, the beads of sweat on his brow and upper lip. And behind him, Elladan, whole, and apparently hail, save for the bruised face, for he sat strong upon the saddle, one arm wrapped tightly around Legolas. He was not injured, not hurt. Galdithion let out a mighty sigh as his lips turned upwards just slightly, a giddy feeling coursing its way through his body, for his heart was still whole, it had not broken.

The party had come to a stop before the halls, and healers now walked between the horses, through the dust that still floated around them, and from their perspective, it was as if the wounded simply appeared before them as they approached, until the cloud finally settled and all became clear.

The serious injury was hoisted down first and placed on a stretcher, before being accompanied inside by two healers and Antien himself, one hand over his patient's hot brow.

At a nod from Galdithion, a Home Guard lieutenant and six warriors walked towards the back of the group and unstrapped the bound body of Beria, before hoisting it aloft their shoulders and marching slowly towards the halls of healing, heading for a door towards that back that was only used for these purposes. Silence fell as they passed and the elves dipped their heads in sorrowful salute to one who had paid the ultimate price to ensure the future of the Greenwood.

Legolas watched it all from atop his steed, as he knew Elladan did. They would not dismount until a healer bid them do so, for they were strict with the order in which patients were tended, and truth be told, Legolas had no wish to move, let alone dismount. Soon enough they were approached by two healers, who studied their commander's face with a practiced eye. However, Elladan anticipated his own report – leaving nothing to the imagination, as he knew Legolas would, if asked.

"Four cracked ribs on one side, two on the other, a dislocated shoulder and a … snapped collar bone that has caused infection and fever."

Both healers now had their eyebrows somewhere near their hairline, and one looked as though he wanted to speak, but could not enunciate the words. How the elf was still awake was beyond his experience as a healer; little did he know that just moments before, he had indeed, been asleep, waking as if some internal clock had warned him they would soon be entering the fortress.

Legolas slipped one leg carefully over the horse's neck, taking the healer's outstretched arm with his good hand as the other braced his flank, slowly letting his body slip down to the floor and landing softly on his own, unsteady feet. A wave of pain and dizziness hit him, and he felt strong hands steady him from behind – Elladan. It was only now that the healers were getting a clearer picture of what had happened, for the commander was covered in bruises that ranged from dark red to black. This was no simple topple from a horse, and these were _not_ the injuries that the battlefield produced…

Comprehension dawned on one of them then, who caught Elladan's eyes briefly, seeing the confirmation he sought reflected in the intelligent, compassionate light grey eyes. Looking back to the ground once more to temper his emotions, the healer took his lord by his good arm, duly noting the heat that emanated from his body. Smiling reassuringly, he slowly led him inside, the other following closely. Elladan followed them, but not before catching his lover's eyes from afar and smiling reassuringly at him, the promise of their reunion lighting his eyes and lending an upturned curve to his lips, lips that Galdithion promised to worship most thoroughly as soon as he was able. Legolas, however, had not looked to his father, something the king did not miss, for had the injuries been superficial, he would have nodded and smiled, and yet now, he simply looked to the floor, his effort to stay afoot evident to the one that knew him best.

The halls were full, as healers and apprentices strode around purposefully, heeding the shouted orders of Antien and Balentar, the master healers. Water was being boiled in large quantities, and cabinet doors flung open as supplies were being grabbed up, cloths taken to bedsides and herbs put to steeping.

All five emergency beds were now occupied, Legolas on the last one towards the back of the long aisle that made up this first aid area. Once the wounded had been stabilized and diagnosed, they would be taken into recovery rooms and only then would their family be allowed inside to help with their care. For now, they were confined outside, however much they had inched as close to the doors as they could, even the king would not be granted entry.

These emergency beds were really quite clever, mused Elladan, for they allowed various healers to work on the same patient at the same time, for the stone was cut to size, forming a T shape, except that the tip, where the head would rest, was carved, offering a modicum of support, or simply allowing water to drain away. He would be sure to tell his father of this invention – if Balentar had not already thought to do so.

Antien attended the infected blade wound, giving precise instructions to the junior healers and apprentices as they worked on the warrior, removing his clothing and bathing his body, before placing a light sheet over his middle.

Meanwhile, Balentar had approached Legolas' position, where Elladan stood over his friend, observing the strained features as he talked nonchalantly with him. Elrond had taught him well, thought Balentar proudly.

"May I address you as Legolas for now?" asked the Noldo master healer.

"Of course, Balentar," he replied softly, for truth be told, now that he was lying flat on his back, the effort he had made to stay awake as they rode in, and indeed to stay on his feet, was taking its toll on him. He could feel a sweat begin to break out on his brow as his bones began to ache fiercely and his breathing accelerated.

Calling behind him, two junior healers approached and began to work, for the first part of healing was always the same – strip and cleanse. Balentar glanced at Elladan, wondering if he would be up to helping, for they needed him with so many wounded. A brief nod had Elladan removing his weapons and turning to the nearest bowl of water to cleanse his hands. He was tired and dusty, dirty almost beyond recognition, a bruise marred his face where the strange orc had walloped him – but his hands would be impeccable, and he would not fail his friend now.

As Balentar turned back to his patient, he stopped short, for Legolas was now naked, save for the bandages around his upper body. He observed as the healers smoothed their wet clothes over his bruised skin, bumps and cuts marred almost every inch of his body, including his face, which was bruised and bleeding, pale and sweaty. He was in pain, for his breathing was harsh yet shallow, his brow furrowed. Elladan placed a cool cloth over his forehead as he continued to speak quietly. He told him of the progress the healers were making with the fallen warrior, the others' injuries, who was being taken where, anything to distract him, for what was to come would be hard to endure, not only for Legolas, but for those that would have to perform the task.

A healer placed a steaming cup in Elladan's hands then. The smell told him it was a sedative, but not poppy. He placed one hand under his friend's head and placed the cup to his lips as he watched. He knew his friend was trying hard, and yet this – concoction, would serve no purpose for what was to come - Balentar would understand, once the bandages were removed.

Yet before Legolas drank, he turned his face desperately to his friend.

"In my side pockets, seeds, acorns, keep them safe for me, for their forefathers will die soon, that their offspring may live – Elladan…"

"Peace, Legolas, I will see it done," he assured his friend, yet he had no idea of what he spoke, and so once his friend had drank, he turned to the discarded clothing and dug his hands into the pockets. They came out full of the fruits of the trees - seeds, acorns and other such things. He gathered them all as quickly as he could and stuffed them inside his own clothing for the moment, for there was no other safe place for them right now.

…..

Outside, Galdithion's elves were hard-pressed to keep the peace, for anxiety was beginning to control them all. No news had been forthcoming and their patience was running thin.

When Galdithion had first seen Legolas in the arms of his lover, he had wanted to run over and help, protect him as he had been doing for so long now, since they were children romping through the woods. It had always been a natural urge to guard his friend, yet had he done so on this occasion, he would have been thoroughly chastised by the healers. And then there was Elladan; he seemed unhurt but Galdithion had had to restrain his urge to take him into his arms and squeeze him against himself. 'There will be time for that, soon', he thought to himself, he would see to it.

Bandorion and Barathon stood together with Thranduil, Lainion and Aradan, sharing soothing comments here and there with those that stood nearby. Barathon, however, could not hold back his own strange musings.

"This is what happens when riding out with too few in your detachment…" he said righteously.

It was the king himself who turned in disbelief to his nephew.

"You have been briefed of the events leading to the battle that caused this?" he asked rhetorically.

Barathon had not expected the king to comment, indeed he had not meant to speak so loudly and his face coloured at the rebuttal he was surely going to receive now.

"Nay, my Lord, 'twas simply an uninformed assumption."

"Uninformed indeed. Be sure to seek information before you '_speak_'," he said, his voice low, well-moderated, a sure sign that the monarch was moderately angry, yet he tempered it well as he met the indignant gaze of Galdithion, whose hand had involuntarily strayed to the pommel of his sword, and then Bandorion, who once more wore that expression of embarrassed apology upon his face.

….

He had been washed, and a sheet now lay over his middle. His entire body was one throbbing mass of bruised flesh, the herbs hardly making a difference at all. A hand to the bandages that wrapped his arm to his chest made him flinch involuntarily and he cursed himself. Balentar glanced at Elladan as he began to unravel the cloth – he knew something bad was under there, for Elladan was going to great pains to distract him as he soaked the cloth in the cool water and continued to wipe the lord's brow.

As the bandages came away, one junior healer gasped, unable to hold back the harsh intake of breath at the horrific break. Balentar's head whipped towards the young healer, scowling at him, yet cocking his head in silent enquiry. Duly chastised, he dipped his head in silent apology, chastising himself for this, elementary slip. Meanwhile, Balentar resumed his ocular inspection of the snap, for that was what it was. He had seen many broken bones before, but this one was – simply strange. He tried to deduce how it had been caused but every time he came up with a blank. His brows furrowed and Elladan saw his confusion, yet he could not explain how it had happened, not now, he would tell him later when the deed was done.

"This needs to be flushed, then joined and set. Thandion, prepare poppy, three quarters," he dictated to a nearby healer, whose eyes said everything his voice did not. Three quarters poppy was a strong draught indeed that would render the king senseless for sure.

As they waited for the brew, Balentar removed the bandages around his patient's ribs, finally exposing his entire body and the damage inflicted. It brought a surge of moisture to the healers' eyes, the junior turning briefly and suspiciously away for a moment.

For what Balentar needed to do now, he would need the help of Antien. Elladan was doing a fine job soothing Legolas, and Elbereth knew he would be needed in a few minutes. Turning to the rest of the tables momentarily, he saw that only one patient remained, and he was unconscious, the others having been taken into their respective rooms. 'Good', he thought.

Antien gave his final orders to the other healers before turning and approaching his friend and colleague. Antien's reaction was much the same as Balentar's had been, and yet he had seen much worse, however, that collarbone was horrendous…

"Have you administered the poppy?" he asked as he looked at his lord's face.

"Nay, but here it is," he said, as a healer passed him a cup, and another which he placed nearby.

"Come, my friend," said Elladan as he once more pulled his friend's head up. "Drink."

Now this, was a bitter brew, one he had had to swallow many times, and yet this time he welcomed it, for he knew it would render him half senseless – yes he would feel the pain, but he probably wouldn't remember it, at least not most of it – he hoped. He was ranting, he knew, but it hurt, he was hot and he longed for sweet oblivion.

"How did you do this? Hum?" asked Antien as they all waited for the poppy to take effect.

"Orcs," he said stubbornly.

"Ah well, I knew that much, Legolas. But how, exactly, hum?"

"The strange one, – snapped – it – _hurt_," he finished, albeit his voice was beginning to slur.

Antien, Balentar and the junior healer grimaced as they tried to imagine how _that _had been done, and if they still had any doubts as to how their lord had come by his injuries, now, there were none, for this had been done under the duress of torture. It was not the first time, and it would not be the last, thought Antien sadly, as he nodded at Balentar and Elladan to begin.

"Are you ready, my friend?" asked Elladan softly.

"Yes," he whispered. He was not ready at all, but the question had been rhetorical, after all.

Legolas felt Elladan place his forearm on his good shoulder and cradle his head into the crook of his arm with the other, leaving him anchored to the table, and the injured shoulder free to be manipulated. Both master healers moved to that side of the table, Balentar taking the arm in his hand to clear the way for Antien to work.

Legolas finally voiced his pain then, as a low moan broke the silence.

"That is good, Legolas, scream if you must, let it out."

There was no reply, and so they set to work. Antien pushed with all his might, as he attempted to align one end of the bone with the other and the first muffled scream rent the air. It never ceased to amaze Antien how a weakened, fevered patient could struggle so much under severe pain – it was taking all of Elladan's strength to maintain his grip as Balentar moved back and forth, side to side, making room for his colleague as he now manipulated and pushed frantically, willing himself to not fumble, for all his years of experience, the sounds a wounded elf was capable of making, never ceased to affect him.

Another wail sliced through the hearts of all that could hear, for these were the sounds of uncontrolled distress. Two junior healers were now holding down Legolas' legs as they thrashed in a futile effort to escape the torture.

The screams soon turned into weak laments, for he had depleted his strength almost completely, his throat raw and his mind fuddled. 'When would they stop'? he moaned to himself, 'Yavanna, have I not suffered enough?' he implored.

He suddenly felt the fierce jolt of bone grinding against bone and the last of his breath escaped him as he screamed hoarsely one last time, before his body went slack, all resistance gone as his body shut itself down in the face of utter agony.

Elladan allowed his own weary head to fall against the beautiful hair of his friend, and although he knew he could not hear him, he said the words anyway.

"Sh, brave Hwindo - stay strong, 'tis over…"

…..

The cries of agony could be heard from afar, reaching the ears of the anguished families that waited at the doors for news of their loved ones.

They looked to each other for confirmation or otherwise that it was not their child, brother or mate that suffered within, all except Thranduil and those that stood around him, for he knew that voice so well, had heard his cries of pain so many times before, yet rarely like this, for the sounds told him that his son was not in control of his body, that the pain was severe enough.

Galdithion's mind wandered the same paths, yet broke the silence in attempt to make the moment more bearable.

"His arm was in a sling, dislocated shoulder?" he mused.

"Nay," replied Lainion. "Too long, that would be a shorter yell, not this… the arm, perhaps."

"Nay," replied Thranduil, "only the shoulder can conjure pain on that scale, and yet even then it seems, excessive... what have they done to my child?" he asked, his tone low, not weak but menacing, the promise of retribution just below the surface of his words.

They remained silent a while, realizing that the sounds had stopped, and that whatever torture Legolas had been enduring, had finally, mercifully, ended.

….

The remaining two warriors had been taken into recovery rooms. They were comfortably appointed, with chairs, a bedside table laden with cloths and a bowl with water. However, there were no doors, and so although the rooms gave the wounded a measure of privacy, they were designed for healers and helpers to move in and out of them at will.

Legolas now lay in one such room, tucked inside the soft white sheets up to his waist. His ribs had been rebound and his arm lay snuggly in a leather holster that was buckled tightly to his chest. His wounds had been cleansed and his hair brushed into some semblance of neatness. His eyes were closed as his chest moved up and down steadily, however he did not lie in comfortable reverie, for he had remained unconscious since that last, excruciating pain he had felt as the bones had finally aligned, coming together in one almighty climax.

His head lay to one side, his mouth slightly open, and even in his paleness and fever, he was beautiful, thought Thranduil, who had only now been allowed to enter. After being briefed by Antien, he had insisted on a few moments alone with his son, leaving an anxious brother and guard outside, together with Aradan, who was as another uncle to his son, he knew, closer yet than Bandorion.

Walking slowly to the bedside, he gazed down at the warrior who looked so much like himself, not acknowledging the dark elf that sat on the other side of the bed, eyes closed in exhaustion. How strong his son was, his body honed to the hardship of life in the wilds, molded perfectly to beat back the pulsing black waves that originated from the Dark Tower, and yet for all his strength, how long until he could no longer endure?

His eyes filled with tears he would not allow to fall – not here, as he held out his hand and placed it over the bruised side of his son's face, stroking the smooth skin with his thumb. 'Sweet child', he thought, 'my sweet, brave son.'

Elladan chose that moment to stir, and then startled as he found himself in the presence of the king.

He scuttled to his feet, the blanket that had been placed over him falling to the floor as Elladan bowed, facing the monarch and uttering his first words since he had fallen asleep not long ago.

"My King, forgive me."

"Forgive you for what, Lord Elladan? For caring for my son? For staying with him in spite of your own exhaustion? For showing me the depth of your friendship and loyalty? What have I to forgive you for, tell me?"

Elladan was taken aback by the words that this, imposing sovereign had regaled him with. He had truly not expected any praise at all, for he had done what the others would have done, and he would say as much. Yet before he could open his mouth to enunciate the words, Thranduil spoke once more.

"Do not say it, my friend. I know the others would have done this much, for my son is well-loved. Yet there is something about you that tells me your friendship is special, in some way I find myself incapable of describing, and yet it _is_ so. Now, get yourself away from here, eat, wash and rest, and come back when you have done so, if you are so inclined – will you do that for me?" he asked sincerely, his blue eyes piercing the light grey of Elladan's half-lidded eyes.

"I will do that for you, my Lord, and I will, indeed be back as soon as it is achieved, for your son saved my life," he said, pausing for the words to take effect.

"By your leave."

"Go," gestured Thranduil kindly with his head, spotting Galdithion just outside.

As Elladan finally left the room, he was enveloped in the guard's protective gaze, much to the joy of Aradan and Lainion, who watched the interaction with indulgent smiles.

"Come, for I would see my liege lord's wishes fulfilled. Let me care for you, my love," he whispered into Elladan's ear.

Coming eye to eye with his lover, he smiled tiredly, deciding to submit to Galdithion's care, for there was nothing for him to do here until his friend woke, and Galdithion in turn, smiled kindly as he took Elladan's arm in his, and walked him away to the fortress, leaving a smirking Lainion and a beaming Aradan behind them.

….

Once they had left the halls, Galdithion had deftly pulled Elladan behind a door and kissed him thoroughly before standing back to look at his lover closely for the first time.

"Thank Yavanna that you are safe and whole – I missed you with a vengeance, Noldo."

"You love me then?" smirked Elladan as he moved closer to Galdithion, his lips but inches away."

"I adore you," he said, now come, and waste not my time, for we have much to do…"

Smiling, Elladan linked his arm with Galdithion's and both warriors emerged once more from behind the door, a giggling junior healer watching it all from behind the bottles and vials upon her workbench.

As they walked together towards the fortress, it was soon obvious that the entire grounds were packed to the brim with elves, and not only warriors, but civilians from all walks of life, most milling in and out of the field barracks and healing halls; some carried plants or wild flowers, others trays laden with food, baskets oozing with pastries and other such delights.

Elladan looked at Galdithion, dumbfounded, until his lover explained.

"It is always the same when The Company rides in, Elladan. Their family, friends, lovers, all want to be with them, care for them, dine and talk, whatever – 'tis a custom that has grown over the years. There are benefits to belonging to _that _detachment, Elladan, not only sacrifices – you are as well-cared for as you are respected."

"And so, where is my basket of cakes, pray tell? Hum?" he asked saucily as he snuggled into his lover's shoulder.

"Beware _my _basket of cakes, Elladan..."

"No! Do not continue!" he chuckled, holding up his arms in surrender.

However, Galdithion had no intention of leading him to the barracks, for his lover's small rooms and communal bathing area would be woefully inappropriate for what he had in mind. He needed a large, private bathing area and an equally private, _double_, bed.

Rounding the corner, they came to the main doors of the fortress, where the guards stomped to attention before their captain and the Noldo lord.

Galdithion nodded as they entered, striding purposefully to the upper floors, for neither wished to stop and chat, and truth be told, by the look of Elladan, no one was truly thinking of doing so anyway.

As they arrived at Elladan's appointed suite, three elves were leaving with empty pitchers, bowing to the two warriors as they left.

No sooner had Galdithion closed the doors, and Elladan was yanking off his gear, leaving a trail of cloth and leather behind him as he made for the bathroom, and the steaming pool that lay in its centre, the fragrant scent of pine and forest herbs touching his senses so that his mouth watered. Yet he paused as he took off his jerkin, remembering the seeds and nuts he had retrieved from Legolas' clothing. Looking around for a place to put them, he finally opted for the side table. Rummaging around, he pulled out the acorns, seedlings and nuts that the Forest Lord had collected, finally turning the pockets inside out until he was sure there were none left, for his clothing would go straight into the washing basket in mere seconds.

Galdithion watched on, struck by this image of Elladan as he must have been as a child, depositing his collection of country treasures that so attracted children. He tried to imagine him younger, shorter, his features still undefined. It was an endearing thought that had him striding over to his lover in three gigantic steps, until he stood before him, a half smile upon his otherwise lustful visage.

"Kiss me!" he demanded, watching as Elladan's face broke into a smile and he complied, pressing his lips to those of Galdithion, hard, unyielding and demanding.

"I am so very proud of you, my Noldo warrior," he said, as he caressed the side of Elladan's filthy hair, his eyes searching his features carefully.

Elladan sighed deeply as he rested his forehead against his lover's.

"It has been hard, Gal, harder than I thought it would be, in spite of the training and the constant warnings, even then, Gal."

"Then come, strip yourself and bathe, and if you wish, I would hear your tale, if you are up to the telling."

"If I do not fall asleep before, I will try."

"Don't you dare fall asleep, Noldo!" replied Gal indignantly, "I will not allow it!"

Elladan simply laughed, and in matter of seconds he was immersed, his head under the hot, scented water. He emerged then, only to meet with a smiling Sylvan who had taken off his own shirt and tunic, leaving him naked from the waist up.

"Come, lay back," he gestured, as he knelt behind his lover's head, whose black hair was now plastered around his shoulders.

Reaching for a bar of soap, Galdithion lathered a soft cloth and began to cleanse the body he so worshiped, eliciting a long, drawn-out sigh of utter pleasure from the son of Elrond.

"By the Gods, Gal, don't stop, wash it all away – take away the stench of evil that lingers around me…"

Galdithion's face dropped as he worked, allowing the silence to suffuse his lover's psyche, relax him. This aspect of Elladan's first experience with Legolas in Mirkwood had worried him just as much as the possibility of physical injury, for the influence of darkness there, in that unholy place, had been the undoing of many warriors, one of the reasons that so few ever made it into the most famous of Greenwood detachments.

"Tell me then, Elladan, of your first ride with The Company," he prompted softly as he worked.

"I have learned much about the nature of darkness, Gal. I realize I had never really understood its essence, until now. I had felt it for some time, but could not put words to it. It was Legolas who, in one, simple sentence, synthesized it so well. He said that it is like a beacon, not of light but its antithesis – cruelty that must be visible in order to render its crippling effects – the wearing down of one's opponent, until they err – and lose," he said, reciting Hwindo's words exactly. "And indeed it is, and yet the fact that it is purposefully emanated from that dark place at the southernmost tip of the Greenwood, its purpose to whittle down the will and suck in the light, he described it as a weapon in itself – 'tis truly a revelation to me, Gal, one that will help me in the future."

"Why was the mission cut short?" he asked tentatively, as he took one strong arm and began to scrub.

Elladan sighed wearily, unsure if he really wanted to recount it all now. Yet he knew that Gal wished to know, not only for the fact that his lover had been there, but because his close friend had been injured.

"Well, I would worship you should you provide me with a glass of wine for the telling …"

"Ah, that is done, for I have procured us a veritable feast for this night – do not fall asleep in my absence, Noldo…"

Elladan smiled indulgently as he listened to his lover patter into the living room. A wave of love washed over him then, for nobody had cared so lovingly for him, save his own mother, and his father when he had been young, and he decided that he liked it, wanted it – someone that would care for him, someone he could care for, it filled him, anchored him, made him feel secure, gave him purpose beyond that of Lord and nation …

He was soon sliding down the stone tub, submerging his shoulders in the warm water as Galdithion resumed his attentions.

"We were on our way to the second of the two villages we would visit and patrol, yet when we arrived, they had been massacred, not one soul had been left alive," he said softly as he remembered the bodies that littered the ground as they had emerged from the trees.

"Females, males, children, civilians all – their throats slit, or stabbed, many in the back, as they ran from them. I have seen many battles, Gal, but the massacre of civilians on such a large scale I have _not_, and it made me sick to the stomach," he said, taking a sip from his goblet.

Galdithion looked up from his rhythmic movements over his lover's skin, noting the tilt of his head, the shine in his eyes, the downward slant of his shapely eyebrows. Yet he said nothing, for he did not want to interrupt the flow, for he rather thought that Elladan would then stop.

"It was then that we realized they were not far ahead, yet there was a group behind us, and soon we found ourselves trapped. Legolas sent out Nanern and Rhrawthir, in search of Barabor, just in time before we engaged. We separated, but our group was too small, and so Legolas sent off Dima's group and we four stayed to distract them."

He paused again as he sipped on his wine, remembering that moment when his heart had sunk to his stomach, realizing that capture was inevitable.

"Legolas put on a display I will never forget," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "I have never seen the likes, Galdithion. He alone left them stupefied, killing four before they could even react. We were all empowered then, and we took down a good number, just we four – and yet our capture had been clear from the start, albeit we had achieved our goal of keeping them off the heels of Dima's group, for therein was our only salvation.

Galdithion moved to take a leg, resuming his loving movements up and down the smooth yet bruised skin. "What happened then?" he asked softly.

"They reduced us to the ground, and poor Legolas – he had terrified them and they would not approach him. They had shot him with an arrow and he had sunk to his knees and even so, it took a club to the side of his head before they would touch him…"

Galdithion's face scrunched in empathy, imagining the scene just as it had played out.

"The question is, Gal, that there was a Uruk, 'the strange one', Legolas had called him, for the beast was different - I am sure Legolas will report that to his lord father and the troops, for there may be more of them. It wished to know of our military potential, and had chosen our friend as the object of his interrogation."

"Ah, I had imagined as much…" said Gal, taking a sip of his own wine as he continued his work, "and yet _Beria_ died."

"Yes, and yet he was not tortured, not physically. He did suffer, though, as we all did at Legolas' ordeal, yet his heart was compromised, Gal, he nearly caved, _would_ have, had it not been for Idhrenohtar… Suffice it to say that they beat our friend, and in the end, the beast simply snapped his collar bone between its two fingers…"

Galdithion gasped as the vivid image of snapping bone under pressure came to his mind's eye.

"It does not seem possible – by the Gods!" He whispered, "how that must have hurt…" he murmured.

"Not as much as the remedy, Gal, for Antien, Balentar and myself took ten minutes to realign it – he will be hard-pressed to use his arm for at least three weeks."

"We heard, yes, and an arduous three weeks they will be, for what is Legolas to do if not train and patrol? He will become restless and unbearable, believe me!" he said, lightening the mood somewhat as he shuffled back to Elladan's head and began to wash his hair.

"Just before the battle was declared our victory, I found myself face to face with the strange one, its leering face but inches from my own. I knew with certainty then, that I would die, feel the cold steel slice into my belly – and yet what I saw was the tip of a blade as it pierced the beast's windpipe, and it sunk to the floor – a beaming Legolas some distance away from me – he saved my life, Gal, and I am changed somehow."

Galdithion had stopped his movements as he heard the end of the tale, a chill tickling his jawbone and setting his scalp to tingling.

"Thank you for telling me, Elladan. Yet tell me you are well, that you do not suffer, that your heart is at peace."

"My heart is at peace, heavy, and wiser, but at peace."

Galdithion took his lover's head in his hands and kissed the side of his face from behind.

"And that is good enough, my love, now come, let me finish with this, dry you off, feed you, and then love you, if I may."

"You may," whispered Elladan as he smiled placidly.


	19. A Greenwood Lament

Chapter nineteen: A Greenwood Lament

It was late, and a growing number of dark figures sat in the shadows outside the doors that led to the morgue - family and friends of Beria who had begun to arrive from their village after receiving the shocking news of his death from the lips of his childhood friend, now named Rhrawthir.

Their spirit singer was one of those who knelt upon the grassy lawn beneath the yews, for she was Beria's aunt. She hummed a sad tune as her mind wandered to the time when the boy had learned archery and then swordsmanship with a wooden blade, rose through the ranks of cadets until he had taken his vows and become a field warrior. And then that day, not so long ago that he had announced he had been chosen to ride with The Company – how proud he was, they _all _were – and yet here she knelt, beside a broken mother and a shocked father, for he had died on his first mission into the South.

The tune began to flow through her as her eyes filled with tears – projecting the powerful emotions through her voice, a voice that now lifted that same song into the air, its sorrowful notes seeping into the hearts of all that could hear it – a voice that would not be silenced until the first rays of sun peaked over the horizon, marking the day her young nephew would be given to the cleansing fire.

…..

Nascent light filtered through the partially open window, and Thranduil stirred, unfolding his legs out before him as he stretched his arms up and over his head, his muscles protesting the move. He would never do that in public, of course, now however, he was alone, save for his son who had not stirred.

Aradan entered then, and Thranduil suspected he had waited outside all night. His friend moved behind him, and placed his large, manicured hands upon his shoulders and began to knead, smiling as his friend groaned in delighted relief.

Lainion popped his head around the open doorway then, having stood guard the entire night, in spite of Thranduil's protests that he was safe. Lainion had argued that the halls of healing were open to any and all, unlike inside the fortress, where each door was watched and guarded. There had been no persuading him, and the king had been unable to refute his arguments, and so he had yielded.

"My Lord, would you like breakfast here?"

"Yes, Lainion, thank you."

"Of course, my Lord," he smiled, as he signaled to a passing helper.

As Thranduil turned back to his son, he realized that his eyes had slipped opened, his green irises staring up at the ceiling.

"Legolas!" he exclaimed as he made for the bedside, Aradan close behind him.

"Um.. yes, I think so," he whispered, and the king smiled, for his son was lucid, and that was good, very good.

Antien glided into the room then, as he had done every two hours since they had brought the commander in. Placing one hand over his brow, he peered into the open eyes and smiled.

"The fever is almost gone, how is the pain?"

"Bearable," he whispered again, and Antien frowned, until understanding dawned on him. His throat, he had suffered such pain yesterday that it had left him hoarse.

"I will be back in a moment," he said, nodding at the king before leaving in search of the ingredients he would need.

"Son," he murmured as he sat on a chair beside him, "you are better," he said, smiling down at him.

"Yes, much better," he whispered, his eyes moving to Antien and an apprentice who carried a tray with various cups and jars which he placed on a table on one side of the room.

"Can you raise his head a bit, my Lord," asked Antien as he approached with a steaming cup.

Thranduil stood and lifted his son's head enough to drink from the cup. The smell of lemon and honey wafted upwards, puzzling the king as he looked at Antien.

"Honey and lemon?" he asked, puzzled at Antien's treatment.

"For his throat, it is a little … sore," he said, without elucidating the cause of it, for it would upset his Lord.

However, Thranduil was nothing if not intuitive, and the implications brought tears to his eyes, and so he turned and walked to the window. Aradan took over from his king, but not before sharing a meaningful glance with the healer.

The sovereign's foggy eyes focused on the scene behind the glass. The morning was fresh and crisp - autumn was coming and the leaves would soon be turning brown, they would soon fall to the ground, only to be trodden underfoot, 'just like my heart', he thought, 'just like my heart'.

….

He had spent a wonderful evening with his lover. He had been pampered and fed, and then loved throughout the night until blissful sleep had taken him. However, his dreams had not been comforting at all, his underlying anxiety showing in the form of restlessness and unpleasant dreams.

Turning, he watched Galdithion awake slowly, the orange beams of light bathing his placid face. He watched as the lovely eyes slowly opened, revealing the blue irises within, eyes he would only ever see closed in bliss, never in sorrow, never in death.

He smiled then as he watched Galdithion's face register his presence, and then light up as joy reflected back at him, and so he kissed him tenderly as he placed his healing hands on the side of Galdithion's head, turning him towards him as he stroked his cheek with his thumb.

"Good morning, sweet Sylvan."

"Good morning, indeed," he murmured, before suddenly sobering and sitting up.

"Legolas…, I must leave, Elladan."

"Then we will leave together, for I too would go there."

"Then come, let us break our fast and be gone, for I am anxious to see his progress, and then there is the funeral this evening, he will need me."

"I do not think he will be up to it, Gal."

"Oh, he will, Elladan, he _will._"

….

"One, two, three!" said Antien, as he hoisted Legolas up into a sitting position with the help of Lainion."

"There, much better," said Antien, stepping back and watching his patient as he struggled to hide the pain and dizziness that hit him.

He relaxed his body back into the pillows that had been fluffed up behind him, and slowly but surely, the room righted itself and the pain subsided.

"Alright?" asked the healer.

"Alright," he croaked.

Antien had strapped Legolas' arm into a leather holster which held it close to his chest, the brown contrasting starkly with the crisp white of the bandages that bound his chest. Other than that, only the bruises remained, one over his eyebrow, another at the juncture of his lips. His hair, however, was a mess, some of the twisted upper locks had even come apart, and Lainion rather thought it gave him the appearance of a wild bush elf.

"Brother mine, your hair does you little credit – for Yavanna's creation is undone," he said, fussing with a spoilt lock.

However, before he could continue, Galdithion and Elladan arrived, smiling at their now sitting-up friend. However, he _did_ look dreadful, thought Galdithion, for all that _that_ was possible with this one, for even in his disheveled state, he was still beautiful.

"Ah, Captain, Lieutenant. I was just leaving. The funeral is at dusk; will you stay with him?"

"Of course, Lainion; go, and rest," encouraged Galdithion, for he knew the guard had not slept all night.

Smiling only slightly, as was his wont, Lainion dipped his head and left, bound for the fortress and a few hours rest, just as his king and friend had done moments before.

"Can we do something with this? asked Legolas in a rough voice as he pointed to his head in irritation.

"And a good morning to you, Legolas," smiled Galdithion as he moved to sit in one of the chairs beside the bed, crossing his legs. "You look terrible."

"Oh thank you so much, loyal _guard_," he retorted, garnering a snicker from Elladan, who had accommodated himself on the window sill.

Legolas sighed as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back onto the soft pillows, calming himself, for the pain had made him short-tempered.

"Legolas, the cup of tea on your right is for the purpose of avoiding the pain, my friend, it will not put you to sleep, I promise," said Elladan.

"How do you know?" he said suspiciously, his eyes but slits.

"I can smell the contents, it will help, go on," he urged, watching as his friend reached for the cup and drank it down and then cringed, accepting the glass of water that Elladan already held out before him.

As Legolas drank, Minu floated into the room, her face awash in worry and concern as her eyes penetrated his.

"My Lord, my sweet Lord," she whispered as she bent down and kissed his brow. Elladan and Galdithion shared a saucy smile with each other, knowing full well her appetite for their friend's attributes.

"Would you like us to _leave_, Legolas?" drawled Elladan playfully.

"Don't be an ass, Elrondion. Stay and entertain me!"

And so they did, for the effort to lighten the mood had partially done its job - they would mourn later, but for now, Galdithion and Elladan would be witness to the undoing of Yavanna's golden locks…

It was soon lunchtime, and four elves filed into Legolas' room, one tray for each elf that occupied it. Yet one of them contained only broth and bread, the one that was now placed before a scowling elf lord, for he could smell the other trays – baked turnip with butter, and rainbow trout, grilled with aromatic herbs, his mouth watered, but alas, that was not for him, not today, he knew. It was always the same with the first meal in the healing halls. If you didn't vomit the broth, your next meal would be heartier.

And so he ate slowly, his now loose, clean hair cascading down his shoulders and back, thick yet silky, but the locks that Yavanna had weaved into it were now gone, for Minu had removed them, washed it, and then brushed it until it shone. It looked beautiful, mused Elladan, yet he would have to do something with it, tame it, for it was not practical at all, not only for battle, but simply for everyday living – and yet – how Glorfindel would delight in it!

"How is the _trout?_" he asked sarcastically, as he slurped his broth purposefully.

"Huum," began Galdithion, "I know not you, my Lord," he began, gesturing to Elladan, "but mine is white and flakey, just a little crispy on the top where the butter has melted over the herbs, it melts upon my tongue and slides down my throat in a cascade of salty, rocky and oh so tender meat – why it is wonderful – you should try it, my King," he said, smiling as he scooped a particularly large portion into his mouth, pinning his gaze upon his unbelieving friend as he chewed slowly, purposefully, with effect.

And so Legolas did the only thing left to him and his dignity – he returned the playful stare as he sucked noisily on his broth, wiggling his eyebrows up and down as he closed his eyes in false bliss.

By the time the two, life-long friends had finished their strange, culinary battle, Elladan was chuckling wildly – it was the first time he had observed them both outside the fulfillment of their respective duties, and it had been an absolute pleasure – for they obviously loved one another deeply, and for all that Galdithion joked with his friend, the underlying worry was plain for one so empathic as the son of Elrond…

…

Antien had returned shortly after with Legolas' dose of herbs that would take him through to the evening. However, healer knew his Lord well, and had doused his cup with a particularly strong potion – it would not make him sleep, but it would dull the senses a little, for what was to come.

It was then, that The Company in its entirety arrived. One by one they filed into the room, finding a place to sit themselves around the bed, all of them attired in their ceremonial uniforms, somewhat different from that of the field warriors, for today they wore no breeches, only their famous skirts and boots, half of their muscled chests bare, their arms adorned from wrist to shoulder, yet their weapons were still in their hands. The deposited them in one corner as they entered – they would arm themselves later, when the time came to say farewell to their comrade.

It was Dima who approached the bed, smiling as he nodded his head. "Will you be joining us, my Lord?" he asked rhetorically, for he knew very little could stop his commander from attending a funeral, for any warrior, let alone one of The Company.

"Of course Dima, if you would retrieve my things?"

"I have brought them with me, Hwindo, we thought to escort you, when the time comes."

"I would be honored, Dimaethor. Rhrawthir, come. Sit and tell us of Beria?" he said softly.

"I know not if I can, my Lord, for his passing is so near," he said, somewhat unsteadily, for the lump in the back of his throat was severely impeding his speech.

"Precisely for that reason, Rhrawthir, for you have not had time to react, have not found the moment to mourn, for no sooner he died, then we were riding back in haste, only to be sent off to retrieve his family. Here, amongst your brothers, you are free, no expectations bind you to decorum, courage and composure – for here, we have all lost ourselves together, and yet we all know our worth and courage.

Elladan was still perched on the window sill, move by Legolas' words to Beria and the kindness that lay behind them, by how much he cared for those he commanded.

"And so, Rhrawthir, tell us? Tell us who True Heart Beria was?"

And so it was that the young warrior began the telling of his life together with Beriadan, the son of an Avari Evergreen Wood conservationist and a farmer's daughter. He told of their times in the schoolhouse, of the childhood dreams they had shared of becoming great warriors, like Gil-Galad, Glorfindel, and then later in life, like Legolas Thranduilion. He had paused here, for the lump in his throat had grown, impeding him from continuing for the moment.

Galdithion had spared a glance at Legolas, whose eyes were bright as he listened.

He told of their first tentative steps in love, their warrior training, their first maneuvers, their first battle, until finally, they had both been chosen to ride with The Company, the culmination of their joint childhood dreams.

"He was so very proud, Hwindo," he whispered then, for his voice was finally failing him, "yet so thankful, we had both vowed ourselves to the service of our people, to do the best job we could, to make a place for ourselves here, with you…" the first tear had fallen, and the rest would not be stopped and his bottom lip quivered, his face finally twisting into a grimace of pain, and yet he struggled to finish the words that continued to flow.

"And yet, our very first mission and he is lost, in one moment, one short moment – and all those experiences," he wavered again, but pushed on, "all those moments of joy and sadness, love and pride, _hope_ - are _gone_ – as if they had never existed at all," and with that, Rhrawthir's heart broke as he fell to his knees and bowed his head, his tears falling to the wooden floor as silent sobs wracked his frame.

They were around him now, kneeling themselves as they placed their hands on his bowed head, and the tears flowed freely. Elladan had also approached, and now formed a part of the circle of grieving warriors.

Hwindo appeared then, and Dima moved sideways to leave him space, lending his arm to his brother to steady him as he, too, sunk clumsily to the floor before Rhrawthir. The young warrior raised his head to look into the face of this, his Lord, his king, the one he revered above all others, and was shocked to see tears running down his stunningly beautiful face.

"All those moments, all those experiences are not lost, Rhrawthir – they happened, form a part of our history. You _will _remember," he said, placing his good hand over Rhrawthir's heart before placing it on his own. "_I_ will remember, as will our people, those he died for – you will see, and if you can," he said carefully, pointing to his temple with a finger, "take him with you when next you ride out," he finished, offering a watery smile to a now nodding warrior, a nascent smile upon his lips.

Antien and Balentar chose that moment to enter the room, only to stop short at the sight before them. Antien glanced at his colleague, signaling towards the open door that they should leave, there would be time enough later on for healing the body – for now, they would leave them to heal their hearts in the comforting embrace of brotherhood.

…

Dusk would soon be upon them, and The Company sat silently outside the healing halls, waiting for Hwindo and Galdithion to join them. Those that passed them did not bow, as they normally would have, they simply lowered their head in a sign of shared sympathy, for this night was for mourning and remembering the fallen.

Inside, Galdithion fastened the skirt around his friend's waist. The top would be a challenge, however. His bound shoulder would need to be on the uncovered side, and so where normally half his chest and one arm would be bare, while the other was clothed, today, it would be partially covered by bandages and the leather holster that held his shoulder in place.

Galdithion worked silently and carefully, for the slightest jostle of his friend's body brought a grimace to his face, and although he did not complain, Galdithion knew him well enough to know it hurt him.

The second challenge was his hair, so thick and long now that Yavanna's locks had come out. Legolas wanted to use Glorfindel's pin, and so his friend gathered as much hair as he dared and pulled it back to his crown, securing first the golden flower, and then the two sturdy sticks that would hold the hair in place, in the form of a cross. The effect was surprising, for although it kept some of his mane off his face, the hair still gave the impression of being loose, although the final addition of a golden headpiece that covered his forehead would keeps the sides from falling into his face.

"There, I am done, Legolas. Are you sure you are fit enough for this?"

"I have to be, Galdithion. If I falter, steady me?" he asked softly.

"Always," replied his guard, and he meant it.

….

As The Company arrived, a single flute struck a sad tune that marked the commencement of the evening's rites, an event that Elladan, Melven and Balentar would witness for the first time, yet not the last, and never, ever forget.

As one, Greenwood's most hailed detachment walked slowly towards the area where the funeral rites would take place, and both Elladan and Melven were forced to keep their legs moving, so stunned they were when the imposing Greenwood army loomed before them, standing to attention in their full battle gear. There were rows upon rows of rigid warriors in golden-green armour, their helmets lending them the fiercest of miens that set the heart to trembling. They stood with their feet firmly anchored to the ground, slightly apart, their arms to their sides, heads high, eyes fixed on nothing at all as the last rays of sun began to sink below the horizon, catching on their armour and sending blue and orange glints in all directions.

Warfare in the Greenwood did not merit the armour they wore, and the son of Elrond knew this was their ceremonial attire, only to be worn on occasions such as this, or in the event of a large battle on an open field, and duly impressed he was as his mind pondered on the absolute discipline this realm required of its warriors, who in return, gave their all, including their very lives. 'So much effort', thought Elladan, 'so much preparation for one, lost warrior…'

The central area was dominated by a bed of wood and hay, upon which lay the body of Beria. He had been prepared lovingly by his family, dressed in his own ceremonial uniform of The Company; his sword lay between his cold hands and his face was tilted towards the stars, serene and passive, as if he slept peacefully, the same soft smile that had graced his face since the moment of his death, and just before.

Beria's family stood a distance away, and behind them, those that had been his friends. Off to the other side stood the King, guarded by Lainion, Aradan, and the entire ruling council. All had dressed formally, and, much to the curiosity of Elladan and Melven, each elf clutched a simple sprig of spruce from the Evergreen Wood.

Thranduil watched as The Company walked solemnly to their place, surrounding his son and Galdithion, who stood closer than he normally would to his charge. A surge of pride hit him violently and he sucked in a heaving breath to steady himself, bringing Lainion's eyes on him, which lingered for a while before turning back to the events taking place before him.

The group of friends moved forward then, organizing themselves into a line, as the first stepped up to the platform where Beria lay, touching his cheek and pronouncing words no one could hear, before placing the spruce beside the body.

Next, the spirit singer stepped forward, bidding her nephew farewell before stepping aside and beginning to hum the tune that came to the fore, flowing with the sensations she was feeling – watching and singing, as was the Avarin way.

Sometime later, the friends had said their goodbyes, yet the spirit singer remained, waiting for the warriors to step forward.

Idhrenohtar lay his hand on Beria's shoulder, offering him one sad smile before placing his spruce and making room for the next – Koron en' Naur, who covered a cold hand with his own, 'sleep well', he murmured, before joining Idhrenohtar. Pengon stood quietly for a moment, before kneeling and kissing the hand that grasped the sword. Ram en' Ondo bent to stroke the chestnut hair, placing his spruce beside it, followed by Lindohtar, who knelt to whisper something into an unhearing ear, withdrawing with a watery smile. Glammohtar stood, hand over his heart before sweeping it out to the side, the formal Noldorin salute, as his Lord, Rafnohtar, sighed heavily before bending and stroking his cheek. Nanern stood over him then, for once rendered speechless, for the words would not come to him, and so he nodded and smiled sadly, before moving away.

Hwindohtar was next, followed closely by Galdithion. He knelt with difficulty, helped by his guard, and then bent forward to kiss the cool forehead. "Your heart was not made for warfare, but for love and joy, and so I bid you – find it, wherever you are, sweet warrior, True Heart Beria."

Standing once more, wincing as his ribs protested vehemently, he moved to stand with the rest, leaving room for the last of them to say his goodbyes. Yet Rhrawthir approached tentatively, as if confused almost.

The spirit singer picked up her song then, as she watched the young warrior, her tune turning to a lament of deep tones that swirled and undulated on the cloud of grief that hung over all of them. Strangely, it gave him the strength to move forward until he was finally before his friend, his life-long companion, his brother almost. Yet what to say? How do you release yourself from someone who has always been at your side? How to accept that you will never feel their presence again, that you have lost them? You cannot, you can only begin to, and then, only time will make it bearable – only time.

Kneeling now, he buried his head in his friend's hair and cried once more, the wailing song of the spirit singer wringing the last of his tears from him. Standing once more, he stared down at the body before turning abruptly, and walking away to join The Company, drawn as a magnet to their understanding, to the quiet strength of brotherhood.

It was then, that Elladan's skin tingled painfully, for the Spirit Singer had been joined by other elves, and together they began a keening, wailing chorus of laments, shouts and screams that were simply frightening, yet just when he had managed to control the emotions the disturbing symphony had provoked, albeit precariously, Hwindohtar's voice of command projected around the entire glade as he yelled the order to form and salute, yet this time, the salute would be with swords, albeit Legolas would not participate physically. Each of them had fixed their eyes on their fallen brother's face, as Legolas shouted out the leading words and his warriors' thundering voices screamed out the rest with everything they were, releasing the pent up sorrow they all felt. They swirled their weapons, stabbing and lunging to the back, to the front in perfect synchrony, until they finally brought up their swords to their noses, thundering out their final battle cry, which echoed powerfully around the glade, just above the sounds of the unbearably sorrowful wailing of the Avari.

The entire Greenwood was pulsing in contained defiance yet the mourning was blatant. One of their own had died, killed by the shadow, and now - now they sang out their defiance, they would _not _be beaten down, trodden underfoot, pushed back until there was nowhere left to turn.

Their eyes stung and their nostrils flared, their hearts raced, their minds repeated the words over and over, they would _not be beaten down_…

When it was over, only the wailers could be heard as their own song picked up, and Beria's family moved forward, his mother awash in an ocean of tears that would not be tempered, his father with her, his face that of one lost, shocked still that his boy no longer walked the woods, uncomprehending of the finality of it.

Elladan thought then, that he had never cried so hard, and so openly. It was impossible to feel embarrassed, for every single elf cried, even the mighty Thranduil. Strange, for the tears were for one he hardly knew, yet perhaps that was not the point, perhaps his tears were not only for Beria – and then he understood, he finally captured what they were doing. They were mourning loss, not just one loss, but the loss of their home, the loss of light and the loss of innocence.

After the goodbyes had ended, Beria's father turned and caught Legolas' eye. He nodded solemnly, and Hwindo understood; his father wanted him to light the pyre. He closed his eyes before opening them once more in determination, walking slowly forward together with Galdithion. As he passed the father, he placed one hand on his shoulder and spoke softly to him.

"We named him True Heart Beria, that all should know his quality. He was a good warrior, yet a better elf, one we are all so very proud of, one that will grace our walls and our hearts, remembered always…" he trailed off, as he resumed his walk towards Beria, the flaming torch now in his hand as he heard the first desperate sobs of the father that had broken from his stupor, into a world of pain. Grasping his mate and pulling her close, they both watched as the pyre ignited, and the sweet, fragrant smell of spruce suffused the hearts and minds of the brave elves of Greenwood the Great.

…

The laments continued through the night, and Hwindo now sat with The Company in the royal family's private gardens. They sprawled on the floor, against trees, or propped themselves up with their arms. Hwindo sat back to back with Ram en', for thus he was more comfortable, his shoulder resting against his friend's strong back, his legs bent at the knees before him, a goblet of wine in his usable hand.

They had been there for some time, exhausted yet finally relaxing with the help of Hwindo's stash of vintage wine.

No one had spoken for some time, each lost to his own sad musings, until finally, Idhreno broke it.

"And what now? Do we take out the other three recruits? For we are sadly reduced in number."

"Yes," replied Hwindo softly. "You have but two days of rest before you must ride back, those orcs need to be reduced, and Barabor and Gondien are due for leave. You will take one of the recruits with you, yet you must continue their training in the field, for they failed on duress…Dima, I leave you at the fore, Ram en' will be your lieutenant."

They sat quietly again, the only sound was the wine as it was poured into a goblet.

"What is our mission, Hwindo?"

"Exterminiation. Kill as many as you can and come back safely to me."

"It has been long since we rode without you, Hwindo," said Koron en' as he sipped at his wine.

"And let us hope it will be long indeed before it happens again," said Idhreno as he raised his goblet. "May you rest and heal, Hwindo, and we will kill them for you, and Beria."

….

That night, Legolas walked slowly back to his suite of rooms on the penultimate floor of the fortress, Galdithion close behind him, for his Lord was all but dragging his feet as tiredness and pain finally caught up with him. By the time they reached the doors, he was panting hard, resting his good arm against the wooden frame as he caught his breath.

His head pounded in time with his shoulder and his chest felt heavy and sore. He needed to lie down. Galdithion was just about to tell him that, when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Startling, he turned and came face to face with the king, his eyes sad yet kind. How he had managed to startle him he knew not, and yet he had.

"Take your rest, Captain, and return with the morning light."

"My King," he bowed, before turning to Legolas, until tomorrow, my Lord. Rest well."

"I will, and Gal – thank you."

"You are most welcome, my Lord," he said formally, bowing, and leaving for his own rooms at the Home Guard barracks below, although perhaps he would make a short detour first...

…..

"Come," said the king as he took his son by the arm and steered him inside, leading him over to the side of the bed and watching as he sat gingerly.

Thranduil walked over to the sideboard and poured them both a goblet of wine. Handing one to his son, he studied his face carefully.

"Better?" he asked.

Legolas simply smiled as he nodded, taking a sip from the goblet before placing it on the side table and standing once more, walking slowly to the bathroom.

"Can you manage?" called his father.

"Aye," was all the answer he received, and so he strolled to the balcony doors and observed the beautiful, moonlit landscape beyond, as he waited patiently.

There was a chill in the air this night, he thought, and in spite of the roaring fire in one corner, the cold ran its way up his spine. Yet perhaps it was not the weather, he mused. They had just committed a warrior to the cleansing flame, something relatively commonplace in the Greenwood, but this had been a member of The Company, and although that did not make the loss greater, the psychological impact _was,_ it was a blow to their morale, one they would need to recuperate from.

Legolas walked over to his father then, moving to stand beside him. He had dressed in loose, low-fitting pants and an open shirt which he would remove before sleep took him.

"Will you help me with this?" he asked his father, gesturing to the clasps in his hair.

"Come," said the king, as he moved to the bed.

As Legolas sat, Thranduil removed the adornment, and as the thick mass of golden hair cascaded down and around his shoulders, he stopped to study the piece, for he had never seen it before. Turning it around in his fingers, he examined it carefully.

"This is top quality workmanship, the carving exquisite. 'Tis from your Gondoldrim lover?" he asked rhetorically.

"Yes, he gifted it to me after Yavanna weaved my locks. I had no idea what to do with it and so he engineered this. And now I have the same problem. 'Tis so long and thick I must devise some way of taming it."

"Perhaps you should spend tomorrow at Finlond. You need a good massage, you need to relax, my son. You will be off duty for at least a month; use it well, look after yourself, catch up with your correspondence, do all those things you never have time for, for if I know you at all, you will be back in the saddle before you are given leave. Heed me, my son, do this for me."

Legolas watched his father closely as he spoke. His tone had started light-hearted, as if to distract his son as he released the clasp and then began to brush through the long strands. However, the final words had been heart-felt, desperate almost. He was worried, and Legolas felt he needed to make a concession, for however much he tried now, he would not be able to reassure him as he normally would.

"Alright, father, I will allow myself this luxury for a short time, if it will please you."

"It will please me, Legolas, it will please me well," he said, smiling as he continued to pull the brush through his son's hair.

A knock on the door revealed Antien, a junior healer behind him carrying a tray.

"With your permission, sire?" asked the healer as he bowed to the king.

"Of course," he conceded, moving to sit by the fire as the healers worked.

Antien was trying to look nonchalant, but he could not take his eyes from his lord's hair. He had never seen the likes. It was beautiful to behold, loose as it was now, its tips reaching down to the sheets. The other healer was having the same problem, but soon shook out of it as he nearly spilt the herbal mixture they had prepared for pain and to prevent further infection.

Smiling apologetically, the young apprentice handed the cup to the Legolas, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes dreamy as Legolas' own green jewels focused on him. The smile of thanks the healer received sent a jolt of pleasure to his groin, forcing him to close his eyes for a moment, before hastily stepping back, and out of the way of Antien, who wished to inspect the still open wound on his shoulder.

Legolas smiled as his gaze lingered on the lovely healer. He would remember his face, and perhaps even indulge in a little pleasure with him, for he was most fair, and his reaction to his person had been evident, however much he had tried to hide it. Suddenly, his father's request for him to rest and relax did not seem so unappetizing, and so he swept his hair to one side and allowed the master healer to inspect his shoulder, a master healer whose eyes were shining with mirth, and just a little mischief…


	20. An Elf You Have Never Met

Chapter 20: An Elf You Have Never Met

He had slept relatively well, waking only a few times when he had found himself in an uncomfortable position, and now, as he stared up at the carved ceiling of his chamber, he realized he had not dined last night, for his stomach was empty and it made him feel queasy.

Sitting up gingerly, he winced as his body told him in no uncertain terms that it was not fit for such action, not yet. Waiting until it subsided, he rose from the bed with slow, practiced movements, and made his way to the bathing room, only to come face to face with his father, who was just leaving it.

"Ah, good morning! 'Tis a lovely day, Legolas. Ready yourself and let us eat together, with our people," he said enthusiastically. Thranduil rarely had breakfast in the halls, preferring the privacy of his own suite of rooms, however today it was important to show their people that their beloved commander was well, or at least relatively so. They needed to raise the people's morale after the sad loss of Beria, and Legolas understood this perfectly.

"You are _chirpy_ this morning, my Lord," he said somewhat sarcastically, for he did not feel well. However, he chided himself for his own, mental short temper, for he understood his father perfectly. He sighed as he swiped his hand over his loose hair, making his way to the bathing room and closing the door.

Thranduil, however, ignored the comment - he knew the wherefore of it. The healers would be here in a moment and he would make sure Legolas was duly dosed with painkillers. He was not pushing his son, this he knew, for Legolas would be up and about today no matter what Thranduil did, and so he turned to the commander's wardrobe, flinging the doors open as he began to inspect the perfectly ordered articles within, a trait Legolas had inherited from his mother. Of course he was chirpy, he thought to himself, for he had his son with him for an entire month; he wondered if he would be able to heal him just a little, bring him a little further into the light, draw him out if he was lucky enough, and if not, then he would simply enjoy his company, for as long as it lasted.

"Ah, _this_, yes!" he murmured to himself, picking out a calf-length skirt of green and blue velvet that was slit up the middle to the mid thigh. It was a provocative item, yet formal enough for court life, but how to combine this to accommodate his broken shoulder?

A knock on the door revealed Galion, who smiled and bowed to his king.

"My Lord, I thought perhaps I would find you here. Will you be taking breakfast in your rooms?"

"Nay, we will both break our fast in the halls, with our people, Galion," smiled the king.

"Very well, my Lord, he smiled, glad of this merry turn of events. "May I - may I help you with something?" he asked tentatively, watching as Thranduil's eyes scanned his son's clothing, thinking he knew what the problem may be.

"Um? Oh, I was just searching for something appropriate for this piece here," he said absent-mindedly, his hand stroking his chin as he contemplated the conundrum.

"Ah, I believe this may do the trick, Sire," he said, as he reached for a white silk shirt.

"It is designed to be worn open from the neck to the waistline, this long sash wraps around the top of the skirt, just so," he demonstrated, holding it up to himself, "you see, he can wear the sling which will be partially covered and yet…"

"And what is _this_?" asked Legolas, his face showing his surprise and amusement at the two elves, discussing what _he_ should wear. "Two females discussing what to wear to a ball, perhaps?"

"Do not be cheeky, young king, and get yourself dressed, in this!" said the king with a flourish of his jeweled hand, passing his son the skirt he had selected.

On any other day, Legolas would have complained, albeit light-heartedly, yet today he wished to make his father happy, and this was one of those silly things that would achieve just that – his father wanted to flaunt him, that much was obvious from the clothing he had selected. It was reasonable, however, for the skirt was comfortable, meaning no breeches to have to lace up, and the top was both flattering yet simple, and ample enough to fit the twice-damned contraption he wore on his shoulder.

And so, Legolas simply took the skirt, leaving the shirt on the bed as he returned to the bathing chamber.

Emerging once more, both Thranduil and Galion allowed themselves to stare, for even injured as he was, his face sporting a curious collection of ugly bruises and half his body wrapped in bandages, this elf never ceased to surprise.

A knock at the door interrupted their stupor, and Galion opened it, revealing Antien and Thandion, who glided in with their trays of herbs, cups, cloths and ointments, yet they stopped short themselves at the sight of the warrior who stood in the middle of the rooms, the beautiful skirt hanging to his calves at the back, and revealing his powerful thigh muscles to the front, his hair loose, serving almost as a cape of golden silk, for it reached down to the very juncture of his back and buttocks.

"Excuse us, my Lords – may we?" gestured Antien towards the trays they carried.

"Of course, Antien, I was expecting you," he said as he moved to the window and Galion left to tidy the bathing area.

Legolas nodded at the master healer as he moved to the bed and sat on the edge, accepting the cup of herbs from Antien and drinking it down as they fussed with the harness and bandages around his chest. Finally satisfied, they stood and bowed before turning and repeating the gesture to the king. However, Thranduil glided over to Antien, placing his hand upon his shoulder.

"Antien, I wish to express my gratitude to you and your team. You have worked most diligently these past few days, and have treated my son most effectively. You have my respect, master healer. Please pass my words on to your healers."

"I will be sure to, my King. May I also say that to serve you, and Lord Legolas, is my utmost pleasure," he said, bowing low. It was not every day that the king commended one's work, and Antien's heart was now beating wildly in his chest and a mighty beam came upon his face as he looked up once more, before turning and leaving, ushering a smiling Thandion along with him.

Walking over to a still sitting Legolas, Galion approached with the shirt, holding it up in a silent request for permission. Now standing, the house master fitted the shirt, wrapping the long sash around the trim waist and stepped back, beaming in delight.

"Marvelous, my Lord!"

"Is it to your liking, my King?" asked Legolas, as he stood and turned to face his father. "Do you wish to select my jewelry, perhaps?"

"Your injury has made you most impertinent this morning, King Legolas. Now, if I may say, your hair – shall I use Glorfindel's clip?"

"Aye, yet it hardly keeps it from my face, I will need to take council at Finlond later."

"Alright, and your crown, my Son, for it is court life for you for the next four weeks!"

….

The hall was full this morning as breakfast began, yet no sooner had the plates started to emerge from the frantic kitchens, that the entire room fell silent, chairs scraping across the wooden floor as all stood to bow low.

Turning his head to the door, Elladan realized that the king stood there, together with a stunning Legolas, so stunning that the silence dragged on for longer than usual. Melven too, was struck dumb, the visual stimulus telling his mind that however much it tried, it would not be able to fathom why his heart hurt at the sight.

Slowly, the noise began to rise once more as both kings glided through the tables to the one designated to them and their immediate family. Legolas' skirt swished about his legs, which poked through the fabric with every step he took, showing his impressive, albeit bruised quadriceps. As they passed the Noldorin table, courteous nods were exchanged, although Elladan and Legolas shared a rather mischievous one – for those two were beginning to understand each other well.

"Commander Legolas looks particularly well this morning," commented Balentar, watching the magnificent specimen as he moved away from them.

"_That_, is not Commander Legolas, but _King_ Legolas, an elf you have not met," said Galdithion proudly.

"My word!" said Melven, still unable to string more than two words together.

"Indeed," murmured Antien.

…..

The royal table had been graced that morning by Bandorion, Thranduil's brother and co-commander of the Greenwood forces, and his son Barathon, the perennial applicant for a posting in The Company, also Legolas' cousin. Alaste, his other cousin, sat with her mother Caladwen, his maternal aunt – though no one would say she had been the queen's sister, for the only trait they had shared was the shape of their nose.

The two kings nodded at them as they, in turn, bowed low, before sitting once more - the entire family now together on one of those rare occasions when duty and motivation permitted.

Thranduil was hiding a satisfied smirk that had been threatening him all morning, since his son had emerged from the bathing room. He was causing a sensation and that suited the king just fine. It was good politics, as Aradan would say.

You look well this morning, Cousin," said Alaste chirpily as she smiled. She was such a pretty creature, thought Legolas as he smiled back; more like his own mother than hers, he mused, and yet neither came close to the beauty of the lost queen of the Greenwood.

Trays piled high with food began to appear before them and Legolas' stomach told him to eat, copiously, and so once the ladies had served themselves, he began his morning ritual, one he had not been able to perform for too long now. The sausage was going to be a challenge, but not a barrier, for these human inventions were his favourite morning repast and _nothing_ was going to stop him, and so he turned his 'little Legolas' eyes on his father, making the august king chuckle as he lent over and cut them up into bite size pieces - wondering what would happen if their trade agreement with Dale ever failed – he envisaged Legolas and The Company then, storming the local Dale butcher and hijacking the sausages. Laughter threatened to push its way past his defenses, before he deftly stifled it.

Giggling from nearby tables told Legolas they were being watched, yet the laughter was genuine and heart-felt, and so he turned towards it, smiling at his subjects as he popped the first chunk into his mouth and began to chew.

"So, Cousin, how long until you ride out once more?" asked Barathon, his eyes on his food.

"A month, perhaps less," he answered, wondering when 'the subject' would be broached once more, and how he would answer his cousin _this_ time; however, he decided to take the reins of the conversation, divert it if he could.

"And your training, Barathon?"

"Ah, yes. Just a few insignificant days to go, and then perhaps you will put me to the test."

"None of the days of your training are insignificant, Barathon. There is always something to be learnt, and as for putting you to the test, that will be difficult for a while," he finished, shoveling more scrambled egg into his mouth and turning his gaze on his cousin now, gauging how he had taken those comments.

"Ah, but come now, Cousin, how many times have to broken your collar bone? Seven, eight times? I have never known you to take more than a week to start training again!"

There was a veiled accusation there, thought Bandorion, yet he would not interfere. He knew the heart of his son. He thought that Legolas was making excuses to not put him to the test. He had not taken the time to know of his cousin's injuries, pushing them to one side in favour of his own predicament. He lived in a world where everything revolved around himself, and strangely enough, his cousin. For although the opposite may have seemed obvious, Barathon worshipped the ground that Legolas walked on – however much he didn't realize that himself. He just prayed that Barathon would see it, before it was too late.

"I wish it were so, cousin. But you see, this particular Uruk was rather – _inventive_, shall we say."

"Did it outwit you, then?" he asked, smirking. From a friend the comment would have been funny, but Barathon was no friend.

Turning the full weight of his green gaze on his smirking cousin, he waited for him to return it, and the table to turn silent.

Galdithion stood in a flash, his body rigid and his hand on the pommel of his dagger as his furious face watched that of his Lord's carefully, a gaping Elladan by his side, for he had sensed nothing to merit it, and yet Galdithion had heard more than enough. Now, as he followed his lover's gaze, he saw the tension playing out at the royal table, all of them looking at the facetious Barathon. 'Ah', he thought, he has erred once more, realized Elladan.

Raising a hand to reassure his guard, even though he had not looked his way at all, Legolas spoke slowly, carefully enunciating every word yet only loud enough for those at the table. "It tortured me, and disemboweled Beria - if this is what you mean by 'outwitted', then my answer is 'yes'," he said simply, watching his cousin as his face dropped, turning first from shock and then to shame, as he bent his head. Alaste had covered her mouth with a dainty hand and Thranduil's sad eyes turned to those of his brother's, watching as they lowered to the table, embarrassment and disappointment shining in them, as plain as the light of day.

"Will you pass me the bread, Father?" asked Legolas nonchalantly, leaving Barathon to recover from his latest mishap.

"Of course, Son," he said, pushing the basket towards him, as if nothing at all had happened.

Galdithion sat then, and the hall seemed to breathe once more, for although they had seen the guard's reaction, knew it was something to do with what had been said at the royal table, that was as far as it went.

Galdithion took a deep breath, aware that all eyes were upon him, yet he cared not, he had been riled and would gladly smack the insolent swine in the face. Alas he could not, and so he allowed Elladan's steadying hand upon his forearm to infuse him with peace once more, and as he returned to his breakfast, Lainion caught his eye and nodded slowly, the light of respect in his ancient eyes.

Bandorion dipped his head once more in mirrored shame. He had been doing this for too long, when would it stop? When would his son see the error of his ways? Would he ever feel as proud of him as his brother did of his own son? And then, there was that niggling thought at the back of his mind, one that had him asking himself continuously if he, as a father, had compared his son with that of his brother's, had unconsciously pitted him against his cousin, as if he had been saying to his son all along, 'here is perfection, now beat it'. Had he? Had he done that?

And so the vicious circle fed itself. Barathon felt under-valued, which drove him to meanness and sarcasm in the face of what he wanted to be, which in turn shamed his father, fueling his own frustration, finally turning it into anger, again and again and again.

…

Legolas had called a meeting with Bandorion and Dimaethor, for the rising number of orcs in the central areas of the forest were worrying, and the subject needed to be broached.

They had discussed tactics and agreed on the deployment of their troops; Dimaethor would ride out with The Company and one new recruit, Dorainen, while Gondien and Barabor would postpone their leave for another two weeks, after which Legolas would make sure they were duly compensated. Elladan and Melven would be busy until their departure with training and briefing; he would see them at the evening meal when he would invite them to the royal table, but for now, his time was his own.

He had dismissed Galdithion until the evening meal, knowing he would appreciate the little time he had with his lover before he was to ride out once more, and Galdithion, indeed, had thanked him most profusely, veritably running down to the barracks as a smiling Legolas watched him, expecting him almost to skip and jump along the way. He smiled to himself at the thought, before a twinge in his arm snapped him out of it. His shoulder was a dull ache that would not abate and his ribs protested every move he made, and as time passed, it made him irritable. The memory of yesterday's funeral and then Barathon's clumsiness at the breakfast table were all helping to turn his day sour. He could do with some of those herbs that Antien had mixed for him that morning, and so he decided he would pass by the halls of healing, see the wounded, collect the herbs and then make his way to Finlond - _that_ would surely lift his spirits, amongst other things.

…..

As he strolled down the pathways, he took the time to stop and talk with those he knew, or to simply return the many gestures of respect he received. He was not in a hurry, he was off-duty as a warrior, but very much on duty as a prince of the realm, and king of its forests.

Finally arriving, he walked inside the candle-lit healing halls and made his way to the central room, the emergency area, where he knew he would find Antien at his table, just past the stone beds that brought back so many unpleasant memories and a chill to his spine. Antien was indeed to be found at his table with Balentar, their heads together over a parchment that lay flat before them.

"Good morning," said Legolas, for neither of them had noticed his arrival.

"My Lord! Are you well?" asked Antien as he rose somewhat abruptly.

"Peace, Antien, I am alright. I thought perhaps to ask for some of those herbs you gave me this morning."

"Of course, my Lord, you can take them thrice daily, let me…."

"I will go, Antien," interrupted Balentar, leaving the two alone.

Antien approached Legolas then, checking the harness and then looking at him with his healer's eye.

"You know, anyone else would be lying in bed and being fussed over…" he murmured as he worked.

"I have had much practice as a patient, Antien," he replied softly.

"That you have, fair king, that you have," he said sorrowfully.

"Master, I have read the chapter on open breaks and then the…, oh, excuse me, I didn't realize, my Lord," said the embarrassed junior healer as he turned an endearing rosy pink.

"Worry not, healer…?"

"Thandion, my Lord, I tended to you yesterday," he reminded Legolas unnecessarily, for he remembered well, that look of longing in the healer's eye. He had also very nearly spilt the contents of his tray this morning.

"I remember, Thandion. You have been studying it seems."

"Aye, I will finish my formal studies soon and then begin my years of practice."

"Then I wish you good luck," he said, smiling kindly as he watched the emotions play on the young one's face like an open book.

Balentar reappeared then with the herbs.

"Here, my Lord. Now, two pinches to one cup of hot water, leave it to steep for about five minutes. Thrice daily, and if the pain does not wane, come back and we will mix you something a little stronger, alright?"

Nodding his thanks, he smiled at the three healers and then gestured to the occupied rooms. "May I?" he asked.

"Of course, my Lord," said Antien, watching as he disappeared into the first room, where the most serious blade injury was to be found, surrounded by family and friends.

"Guard your heart, Thandion," said Antien softly, "guard your heart, for _he_ is not for you."

Speechless, Thandion glided from the room. He knew he could never have him, for Legolas was the lover of lords and rulers. He, a lowly healer, could only ever aspire to a kiss, perhaps a moment of shared bliss. He decided then, that he could live with that, and yet what was he thinking? A moment of shared bliss! Legolas would never agree, would never turn his attentions on him. Resigned to worship him from afar like the rest of the elves of the Greenwood, he returned to his desk and opened the book once more. '_Open breaks or fractures must be treated quickly for…._'

…

He stepped on to the fresh green grass of the Evergreen Wood, breathing deeply of her primal scent, the woody, spicy undertones serving to clear his mind and lift his heart somewhat. He stayed there, enjoying the moment, until Huoriel approached him, smiling joyously as she opened her arms.

"I am honoured to welcome you back, my Lord. We were most concerned at the news we received on your arrival, and have been awaiting your visit, that we may help in your recovery."

"Huoriel, take me then, to comfort - do with me as you see fit," he said placidly, commending his body into this elf's able hands.

Taking him by his good arm, she led him into the caves, patting his hand as they walked. Once inside, she turned him towards her, looking at him carefully.

"You are in pain, I can tell. You are tired, in body and spirit, you are sad, _and_, your hair needs attention, my Lord. Has it grown since last I saw you?" she asked, her brows furrowing deeply.

"Nay," he chuckled, "but Yavanna's locks are undone…will you help me?"

"It is beautiful, truly. Will you let us style it? Lend yourself to the good of Elven art, my Lord"?

"Woe is me, but yes, I will rise to the challenge, Huoriel."

Smiling slyly, Finlond's first lady led him into a large, well-lit cavern. Along one wall, were reclining chairs, sofas almost, that were tipped backwards towards a raised waterway that ran around the entire room. There were several elves laying there, naked save for the towels tucked around their waists, their heads resting over the edge of the channel of water as the experts behind them washed and conditioned their hair. Some chatted amicably, others simply lay there in bliss as their scalps were massaged, their hands manicured, their feet pedicured.

Most Legolas recognized as politicians, others were influential merchants. There was also a smattering of warriors, those off duty due to injury or after a long stint out in the wilds. It didn't bother him, for communal bathing and pampering formed an integral part of the Greenwood culture, a favourite past-time for those that could afford it, or those that were invited by others. It was also a place where politics and intrigues were discussed, where acquaintances and even lovers met, and gossip was ripe. However, should the mood take one, they could always request the special services that Huoriel and her team offered, in private of course.

Huoriel led him to a partitioned area and undressed him, wrapping his waist in a towel and removing his hair pin and jewelry, leaving him naked save for the bandages and the shoulder harness. Emerging once more, there was a lull in the incessant chattering as Huoriel led him over to an unoccupied chair, arranging his legs and arms comfortably as she gestured to three elves.

"A glass of Dorwinion, my Lord?"

"Perfect," he murmured, as three elves descended on him. One took his hand, another his foot, and the other moved behind him, all poised for what would be for them, the event of the week, to make perfection perfect – well, almost.

…..

Legolas now stood before the mirror in his own rooms. He had chosen a light blue silken shirt and a dark green skirt, the ample sash of a deep rich blue. It was simple yet elegant, however his hair… they had braided the front and sides back, joining each one at the crown of his head so that its bulk could be seen from the front, the braids fountaining up and out around the back of his head as the rest fell down to the tops of his pert buttocks. Had his face not been so beautiful, he would have been a fearsome sight – it lent him a wildness, an untamed element that was both sensuous, and strangely practical. He would have to get used to it, for it made him look bigger than he really was with his hair fanned out like that.

The effect did exactly what Huoriel had predicted, and if his entrance at breakfast had been memorable, dinner would leave more than a few with their mouths agape.

…

Now on the main course, Elladan conversed with the woodland king. Legolas had invited both of his Noldor friends to join them, for he wished to introduce them into his family circle, that, plus he simply wished for Elladan's company, for he was witty and intelligent, he had an acetic sense of humour, and he was well-versed in a variety of disciplines, spanning from history to botany, not to mention his considerable healing skills.

Now, specifically, he was asking about the elderberry wine he had first tasted on that first night of celebration after their arrival. Since then, Elladan had explained that he had neither seen nor drank it any more. Now the subject of alcohol was one of his father's favourites, and so he was now midway through a most lengthy explanation of how it was prepared and brewed, its maturing time, the barrels it needed to acquire that characteristic, retro-nasal taste.

Legolas was surprised to see his cousin Barathon so quiet this evening, not one sarcastic remark had left his lips. He seemed sad, he thought, and wondered then what strange ideas were keeping him silent.

His cousin was an enigma to him, for he had never really managed to understand him at all – what was the origin of his enmity? He decided to draw him out, if he could, albeit he knew it would probably end badly, but try he would.

"Cousin, you are quiet…" he began tentatively.

Barathon's head shot up then, surprise shining in his eyes. And when he spoke, he surprised Legolas for the first time in years.

"Forgive me, Legolas, I was lost in thought."

Hiding his surprise at the honest answer, he continued.

"There is nothing to forgive, we are all prone to doing just that, and I am no exception," he smiled, and then he nearly fell off his chair when Barathon smiled beautifully.

"Aye, I suppose, Legolas, I …. I wish to apologize for my behavior this morning. My words were impulsive, yet they were not intended to hurt, I swear."

Legolas sat staring for long seconds, looking his cousin squarely in the eye, searching for the truth behind his words, and to his utter shock, he found it. He spoke the truth and for the first time, he felt endeared to this, his uncle's son.

"Cousin," he almost chuckled then, for the novelty of it had left him somewhat confused. "Barathon, I _do_ believe you, and I thank you, _truly,_ for your words."

Barathon simply smiled, before resuming his dinner once more.

'How strange,' mused Legolas. He knew this new twist in his relationship with his cousin would bring days of pondering, for he had suddenly seen a side to him that he had never seen before, or was it that he had not wanted to see? He simply did not know. Fortunately, Elladan broke his internal dialogue, addressing him formally as his presence at the royal table dictated.

"My Lord, I met with Captain Dimaethor today, who has briefed us on our next mission, two days hence," said Elladan, watching Legolas for a reaction, for he would not be joining them.

"Aye, I know, Lord Elladan. You will do well, I am sure. The Company will not move so far south this time, it is the central areas that worry us, for those orc numbers were way over what can be considered normal. You are all in for some orc hunting, my friend," he said, a fierce grin on his face.

"Ah, and that is something I excel in…"

"So I have heard, but have a care, my friend, don't let the Uruks surprise you."

"I will do no such thing, Commander, for I shall jump and whirl, just as you taught me, and then of course, I have wings…." he said, returning the feral grin, and earning himself a delighted smile from Legolas.


	21. Divine Inspiration

Author's note: this chapter has been edited to comply with ffnet policy. You can read the full version at faerie, or lotrfanfiction dot com.

AND, a great big thanks to Bime, SilverNM, Blacklion45, Eliza111 and Oroviel for taking the time to review. You make it all worthwile!

CHAPTER 21: Divine Inspiration

The next day found Elladan and Melven on the training grounds together with The Company. Pengon and Ram en' had them scurrying through the trees in an attempt to improve what so far had proved to be their weak spot, as Legolas well remembered, as he resisted the urge to prod his cheekbone.

He stood off to the side, watching as they received instruction, and then fell to the unyielding ground, again and again.

Barathon moved up beside him then, glancing briefly at his cousin before turning to the training elves he so longed to be with, although he would not admit that.

"My Lord," acknowledged Barathon, to which Legolas replied with a "My Prince."

Just then, Elladan's foot slid once more and he plummeted to the ground with a thud that made Legolas wince. Yet the silence surprised him, and so he turned to his cousin.

Barathon had not laughed and Legolas wondered at his motivation. Was he simply aiming at scoring points or was it a genuine attempt to breach the gap between them? For since dinner the evening before, his cousin was simply, unrecognizable.

Barathon's eyes glanced down for a moment, knowing exactly what his cousin was thinking. 'Why did he always have to think badly of him? Could he not, for once, assume that his motivations were innocent, void of selfish interest?' They were _not,_ of course, but Legolas did not know that.

"'Do not worry, my Lord. Tis surely just a passing phase. I am sure I will be back to my old self soon enough," he said arrogantly, his usual snide sarcasm pushing its way to the fore. Yet it was forced, and Legolas had had a glimpse of what lay beneath, and now, he was intrigued.

….

He had ambled around the grounds for the rest of the morning. However, he had overestimated his strength, and a powerful urge to sleep took him, as another twinge to his shoulder reminded him he had not taken his herbs. He made his way back to the fortress, bowing and smiling as he went until he was finally before his door, through it, on his bed, and fast asleep, clothes, boots and crown included, and not even Thandion's knocking a while later could stir him.

Antien had sent him to Legolas' rooms to check on him and leave him with the supplies he would need. When he had told the junior healer where he was to go, he had had the distinct impression that his master was smirking; Antien never smirked, in all the years he had known him, and Thandion had squirmed uncomfortably, suspecting that the master healer knew exactly of his piteous, futile worshipping of the Forest Lord. But he simply could not help it; every time he saw the king, his legs would wobble, his body would tingle and his eyes would slide half shut with just a cursory glimpse of the glorious visage. Antien did not suspect, nay, he _knew_, had said as much the day before, yet Thandion had held to hope that his yearning had not been so visible, that he had been skilled enough to hide it – and now, those vain hopes were shattered.

Opening the door slowly, he poked his head around the thick wood, calling out timidly to its occupant.

"My Lord?"

No answer, and so he crept inside, making his way to the bed chamber, and craning his neck around the door. There, sprawled most sensuously on the bed, was the object of his desire, and his eyes opened wide as he registered the details that had sent one, unanimous message to his groin. Legolas was fully clothed, yet his bare thighs were visible under the twisted skirt, as was half of his bare chest, defined as no other he had seen in all his years of apprenticeship - so well-muscled, the emerald piercing twinkling in the waning light blasting through the open window, as if beckoning him to suck at the nipple it hugged. His good arm was out to the side, his beautiful hair fanning around him in a halo of thick, liquid silk and intricate braids, the different textures both delighting and inviting his tingling, eager fingers to stroke and caress the treasure. His face was placid, his lips slightly parted, his eyes – _closed_? 'What was he thinking? What kind of healer was he? To take in such details and not realize that this elf needed attention – he felt shame then, as he floated into the room and placed his fingers at the Lord's neck, relaxing somewhat when he found a steady, strong pulse.

He was asleep, deeply so – this was the sleep of one exhausted, and so he limited himself to lovingly removing his beautiful boots and the crown upon his brow. As the precious metal came away, he watched - mesmerized as the symbol of office brushed over the braids atop his head and he suddenly found himself only inches from the face he adored so much. 'Would he notice?' he wondered, if he just placed one, feather-light touch of his lips to these? And _that _was the first image that Legolas came, literally, face to face with. He had felt the ghost of a breeze over his face and had startled awake. He jumped back in surprise, which in turn startled Thandion, who fell backwards, stumbled and clattered to the floor in a heap of tunic and apron. He just sat there for a moment, his face set in an expression of utter incomprehension – what had just happened?

It was then that the splendorous face moved in front of him, his amused expression mixed with a modicum of concern.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

"Uh, yes, my Lord, forgive me, for I…."

He was interrupted as Legolas pressed his lips softly to those of the stuttering healer, watching as his eyes bulged and then his lids drooped as his pupils lost focus. He could not believe what was happening to him, for the most desired of all elves was kissing him softly on the lips, sending his body into a frenzy of reactions he simply could not control.

Legolas moved away then, observing the lovely healer as he sat frozen to the spot. He smiled indulgently as he stood and offered a hand down to the disoriented Thandion, who took it slowly, and now stood before this great warrior. He was unsure of his next move, and it showed, for he felt a soft, warm hand on his cheek.

"You desire me," said the lord softly yet unequivocally.

Looking at him now, Thandion realized there was nothing for it but to confess his devotion, he had given himself away and Legolas had given him a consolation kiss for sure.

However, the lord moved in once more, and this time the kiss was more demanding - not the kiss of one who felt pity, but the caress of one who sought pleasure. Thandion, still disbelieving his luck, smiled into it, answering as best he could, feeling his body turning to liquid where he stood.

….

Tomorrow, The Company would ride once more, yet this time, Hwindo would not be with them. It was not the first time and it would certainly not be the last, yet it was always a strange sensation for this elf, born a warrior.

Dinner had been somewhat subdued, and Barathon had been mercifully quiet, and now, Legolas strolled through the grounds of the fortress together with Elladan, Melven and Galdithion.

"We missed you at lunchtime, Legolas," prompted Elladan, sparing a sideways glance with Galdithion, who simply smirked and looked away. As Legolas' guard, it was his business to know where he was at all times.

"Ah yes, I was, somewhat tired after an over-zealous walkabout. I retired to my rooms," he said nonchalantly with a flourish of his hand. However, it was Galdithion who elucidated.

"Indeed, it seems that sleep eluded you, my friend," he said playfully, glancing at Elladan and then Melven, a naughty smile on his amused face.

"Ah, and that is where you are wrong," retorted Legolas. "I slept most deeply, until I was interrupted most sweetly, Galdithion."

"Oh?" he replied. Did the healer sweaten the brew with a little honey then?"

Melven snickered as Elladan smirked, wondering where their banter would lead.

"Actually, it was _I_ who…"

"Stop! Stop! Alright, my attempt at mortification has failed, but I have no intention of hearing of your exploits in the bedchamber, Legolas!" cried Galdithion.

"Legolas, do you never stop? I mean, how many lovers do you have, for the love of _Elbereth_?" asked Elladan, mock exasperation on his face.

"Are you jealous, dear Noldo? As to your question, as many as I can get, my friend, as many as I can get," he smiled as his eyes twinkled with mirth.

"He means, Elladan, around thee or four – dozen!" exclaimed Galdithion, throwing his arms into the air. "I mean how is a poor guard to watch his _back_, precisely? For…"

"Ai, Galdithion! Don't – don't! chuckled Elladan, his gay laughter drawing them all to giggling.

"I will miss your company, my friends," said Legolas, as he raised a hand to the low-hanging branch of a beech tree, caressing its green leaves softly, replying to its unspoken request.

"I confess it will be strange, riding without you, Legolas," said Elladan, glancing at his friend and smirking, yet he meant what he said, it would indeed be strange.

"Dimaethor is more than capable of guiding you, yet this you already know of course," he replied wistfully.

"Aye, and yet he is not _you_, Hwindohtar, and this, of course, you already know."

Legolas stared for a while, watching his friend's face, reading the expressions that graced his lovely features.

"I, my friend, am doomed to the life of a courtier, for a few weeks at least, Galdithion will tell you that it is a life fraught with danger, for there is much drinking, sex, arguing and negotiating.. 'tis a hard life, Elladan, one I am no longer used to."

Galdithion snorted loudly then, for if he knew anything at all, it was that his friend and lord thrived on these things – he would be in paradise while his own lover was gone, off to the centre of the Greenwood. However, his injuries would hinder him for at least the first week, and it would be Galdithion's job to encourage him to sleep and care for himself, a job he would carry out with relish, for if not for these brief interludes, what then, would life be but a continuous monologue of pain and suffering?

"Then suffer not in silence, my friend, for you are with Galdithion, no better company could you wish for," he said, his eyes straying to the face he knew he would miss sorely on this, his second foray into the forest.

….

Later that night, unable to sleep, Legolas sat at his desk in his sleeping chamber, several parchments before him, yet only one unfinished.

_Your son rides out tomorrow, without me to look out for him. I commend him then to the care of Dimaethor. May Yavanna watch over him, Elrond, for he is dear to me, noble, empathic, of sturdy heart and agile mind, so like you, my love…_

He sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He missed his Noldor lovers fiercely, and the recognition of it sent a painful wave of yearning to his heart.

…..

Morning brought the farewell ritual as The Company departed on their mission into the centre of the Greenwood, although both Legolas and Galdithion had made their personal farewells the night before, and Legolas was now to be found in the king's offices, father, son and chief advisor sitting together to discuss the matters of council.

"Aradan, what is the order of the day, pray tell?" asked the king, more for Legolas' benefit than his own, for it had been a few years since his son had participated in the politics of the realm. He would be out of touch with the latest intrigues and ploys.

"There is some concern over the number of engagements with orcs, and it will be good to have Legolas here with us, to update them on this point," said Aradan carefully, his shrewd eyes straying to Thranduil.

"However," began the king, "it would, perhaps, be wise not to be too – explicit – in your explanation, Legolas – at least not until we know the reasons…"

"Perhaps, and yet the incoming casualties will soon increase, causing alarm if we underplay what is happening out there, we may lose credibility for it. Perhaps a compromise between real numbers and the reassurance that the situation is being handled effectively?"

"Yes, good," smiled the king, glad that his son had not forgotten his years of diplomatic training.

"Alright, so, orcs and … anything else?" asked Legolas, for so far, it all seemed surprisingly straight forward.

"There is the issue of the dairy product dispute, but I do not advise you to get involved in that, 'tis far too convoluted for you to intervene without previous study on the matter," said Aradan, putting off the inevitable, even if it was only for a few, blessed seconds.

"And…," prompted Legolas, knowing there would be more.

"Well," began Aradan, immediately bringing Legolas back to attention.

"There are certain sectors that are moving to force the issue of Barathon. He does have his followers, and I feel sure they will take advantage of your presence, Legolas."

Legolas' face turned sour then. The pressure to take Barathon out with The Company was becoming not only unbearable, but was now threatening to become a decree. He sighed audibly.

"I know now, that I cannot hold this off indefinitely, yet my concerns are real. Should Barathon join us, he will, sooner or later, be the cause of grief. How many times must I repeat myself?" he whispered almost to himself. "Why will they not trust me in this as they do in other things?"

"Because they sense there may be personal reasons. They know of your dislike of your cousin and this predisposes them to assuming you are being – unfair."

"Um…" was all he could bring himself to say.

…..

Council at the fortress of the Greenwood had been most interesting, more lively than it had been for a long time, mused Aradan.

Legolas' presence had caused a sensation, and the chief advisor could see how his colleagues had risen to the circumstances, drawing on all their skills of rhetoric, wit and acumen to present or refute the arguments that were on the schedule. He smiled, for Legolas never failed to raise the blood and bring out the best in others, all except for Barathon, of course, where the opposite was actually true. And herein lay the source of Legolas' unhappiness now, as he sat at the luncheon table in the king's suite.

Barathon's followers were indeed few, but were also those most critical of the king himself, and then their arguments had been most convincing. Legolas however, was nothing if not intelligent, and had refuted them all basing himself on the outcome of the prince's training. They had argued that that failure could be put down to his own self, asking him why he had not managed to get his cousin up to standard after so long.

Legolas had answered that one cannot change a person's character if they do not wish it. It had been a circular argument, which in the end, had preempted what Legolas had feared from the beginning. They had passed the motion and Legolas' hand had been forced. Luckily, he had worked in one necessary and binding condition; that Barathon would follow orders, to the letter, and the first breach in this condition would mean he would be excluded, for good.

He now sat, eating as he stared off into nothing.

"Legolas, you knew this would happen, sooner or later."

"Knowing does not make it a wise decision, Father. 'Tis pure folly and I know it, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt," he said flatly.

Aradan's gaze strayed to Thranduil's – Legolas had taken this question very badly, felt more deeply about it than either could have imagined. He seemed sad, almost, a reaction that had both elves worried.

"I will do this because it is what is required of me, yet I do it in the knowledge that it is _wrong._ If something happens as a consequence of this, I will feel responsible, I _will_ be responsible."

Thranduil had not considered that at all, and he did not like it. His son already endured a great responsibility, that of commanding the Greenwood army, and yet it was a responsibility based on decisions he himself took, and when things went wrong and someone was killed, he suffered but with the knowledge that he had done all in his power to avoid it. Yet this, this would be different.

Aradan had followed the same mental process as his king, but he added one final argument.

"Legolas, you will not be responsible, for you have made your position clear, you have warned them, and now that responsibility is for those that oblige you. You can do no more."

"But I _can_, Aradan, I can refuse," he said, his face now betraying the emotions behind his words.

"You cannot refuse a decree, Legolas, not without facing dire consequences," said Aradan carefully, worried about where Legolas would take this conversation.

"And I could face them," he countered.

"And if you were replaced and someone less able took your place, Barathon would still be admitted…"

Aradan paused here, for he knew Legolas could not refute this argument.

Legloas held his gaze for a few moments, realizing that Aradan was right. He nodded then, before bringing his head back up and smiling at his father's close friend.

"Not in vain are you chief advisor of the Greenwood, Aradan, for you are wise indeed. Thank you."

"You are most very welcome, Legolas," he replied, yet he was still troubled, for sometimes, the heart caused suffering that the mind considered unfounded, and even though Legolas now understood that technically he would not be responsible, his heart may well rebel, for he knew the king's son well, so much like his father he was.

…

Legolas walked back to his own quarters in the company of Galdithion. Entering and closing the door, the guard relaxed, as he observed his friend. He was pale and obviously tired. His father had not said anything, but once lunch was over, he had caught Galdithion's eye and gestured with his head to his son. He had realized of course, but he did not want to fuss, and the guard had understood perfectly.

"Where are those herbs that Antien gave you?" he asked, all business, not a hint of a suggestion in them, and surprisingly, Legolas did not hesitate to answer as he sat wearily.

"Over there, on the side board."

Five minutes later, he sat with a steaming cup in his hand and his friend beside him.

"How are things with you and Elladan?" asked Legolas as he turned to watch his friend's reaction to his question. He was delighted to see a broad smile crack open, one that had himself grinning in shared joy.

"I told him, I declared myself."

"And?" asked Legolas, avid for the story despite his sorry physical state.

"And – he returns my love," he said, a triumphant smile plastered all over his glowing face.

Legolas smiled wider then, the first real moment of joy he had felt all day.

"I am so very happy, Gal. Would that he would take his decision soon, cleave to immortality with you and I at his side."

Sobering just a little, he simply nodded, for just the thought of his love choosing mortality threatened to bring tears to his eyes.

"Now come, Legolas. Drink and take a nap, and don't tell me you don't need it," he said forcefully, yet Legolas surprised him again, offering no resistance at all to the idea. Once he had left his friend on his bed, crownless and bootless, he made his way to his own rooms – his mind once more awash in misery at the prospect that Elladan would become mortal, that his love would not be strong enough to tilt the balance. Yet he did not want to broach the subject, not yet, lest he appear too eager, or his lover feel pressured. Nay – he would wait, for a while at least.

The lovely face came to his mind's eye then, and he beamed in joy. 'Fight well, my love – do not break my heart.'


	22. Home and Away

Chapter 22: Home and Away

Rafno swirled then ducked before slicing through the knee of an orc, and then moving in to decapitate it, only to close in on his next victim. Glammo worked close by, terminating life after black life, his face impassive yet stern and determined, for these were goblins and they fell, oh so easily before his flashing blades - today, Glammo wielded his short swords, a skill he had worked hard at since he had been in the Greenwood.

The battle had been short, sharp and precise, and Dima called to them all, as he wiped off his own, blood-slicked blade.

"Well done. Clear the sight, post a warning to the others, burn the rest. Then wash. We leave in two hours. Questions?" His dialogue was akin to the woodpecker's call, thought Rafno, for it was curt, precise, effective.

"Where are we bound, Captain?" asked Idhrenohtar.

"East, towards Gondien. There is a pack to their south. We need to ring around them, drive them northwards and into his waiting arms.

Seeing there were no further questions, he turned to Glammohtar and raised an eyebrow.

"Glammohtar, you did well with the short swords, have you considered taking the grade for Master?" he enquired, for he had watched the warrior during a lull in the fighting, and had been duly impressed. Those training sessions he had had with Hwindo had paid off, and he really was very good, mused the captain.

"Do you think I am ready for that, Captain?" asked a wide-eyed Glammo, for he had not considered that possibility at all.

"Perhaps a little polishing, but you are well on your way, warrior – consider it," he said, as he walked off to supervise the clean up.

Glammo glanced at Rafno, who had been standing close by, and by the look on his friend's face, he had heard what Dima had said.

"Well, well," said Rafno. "Master in short swords, hum? That is something I _must_ see, my friend. Will you work for it?"

"Yes," said Glammo as he considered the possibility for the first time, "yes, I think I might. I would, of course, need to train hard first, but if Dima thinks I may… and then I really do want one of those shiny arm bands, for we only have one, and they have many…" he said, pointing at the others sharply.

"You are right, of course" said Rafno playfully. "I wonder if I am ready for Master in the long sword…, then we can both get one, he grinned impishly!"

They stared at each other for a moment before sharing a mischievous smile and moving off to do the captain's bidding. However, Rafno took the time to see to the minor injuries his comrades sported, before allowing himself to bathe, somewhat hastily, change into his spares and wash his clothes. No sooner had he finished, and Dima called to mount up and move out.

In the saddle once more, he blew out a breath, for he had not stopped since the battle had ended. 'Well it couldn't be helped' he thought, as he wheeled his horse round and joined his brothers for the ride east. However, he soon realized they were watching him.

"What, what is it?" he asked as he chuckled nervously, thinking perhaps he had forgotten to lace something up.

There was not much time for idle banter, for they were on full alert - they were not safe here, and thus silence reigned, yet they did smile and nod at him, before turning their faces to the fore once more, all of them thinking the same thing, for the hard core of The Company had come to realize that there was one more amongst them, one who would be sorely missed when the time came to return to his father's realm.

…

Life at the fortress had slipped into some semblance of routine. Legolas would awake, take his herbs, dress formally, receive Minu who would weave his braids. He would take breakfast either in the halls with Galdithion and Lainion, or with his father in his suite of rooms. He would attend council, retire for lunch, and then sleep for a few hours. He spent his afternoons visiting with friends long neglected, writing letters to Imladris and Lothlorien, and working with Bandorion in his offices at the field barracks, but as of yet, the subject of Barathon's forced inclusion in The Company had not reared its ugly head until now, for Bandorion could not stand the unbearable tension that had grown between them; it would not do to have the two Greenwood commanders at loggerheads over their son and cousin, and by now it was clear to him that Legolas was not about to broach the subject.

"Legolas, we must speak of that which divides us," he said from his desk, watching his nephew and superior, who was bent over the central table studying maps of the southern regions of the Greenwood, now the Mirkwood.

"Yes, I know," he mumbled, peering closely at the land surrounding Lithaldoren's village, for they were soon due back in that, forsaken area. "And yet I have nothing more to say that I have not already said," he murmured again, somewhat irritated by the interruption.

"I had nothing to do with the decree, Legolas. That comes from his mother's quarters, and although she is no longer here, she still has many friends and family who are," he began, rising from the table and slowly approaching his nephew.

"I know this, Bandorion," said Legolas, louder now as he turned to face his uncle, "and yet you do not speak out in favour of _my _arguments. You know I am right, yet you trust to luck that nothing will happen, and I like not your reasoning, uncle, for there are lives in the balance," he warned, the candle light glinting off his green eyes; 'feral', thought Bandorion suddenly, 'dangerous' – yet 'what to say?' thought Bandorion, as he endured Legolas' knowing stare.

"Legolas, surely if we can bring him round, remind him of the condition you wrought from the council, we can come to control him…"

"You do not _know_ that, Bandorion, and neither do I, and therein lies the problem, the problem you in your silence, and the council with their decree, have bundled onto _me_," he gestured to himself, "that _I _may feel responsible, should something untoward happen… I trust you, uncle, but I do not respect your decision to let the river run and take no part in what is clearly folly."

Bandorion bowed his head in respect, it was fair enough, and his nephew was right, he knew, he could simply not acknowledge it, for Barathon was his son, and he loved him, in spite of everything; it was not rational, he knew, but it _was_ natural.

…..

"Ram en'!" yelled Rafno as he fought his way to the besieged warrior. They had surrounded him and were now trying to beat him to the floor. Finally there, Rafno found his back, and together, they fought until the beasts lay dead at their feet.

With time enough only to nod at each other, the battle continued as a warg pounced on Rhrawthir, only to gurgle and collapse on top of him, pinning him to the ground and squeezing the wind from him. Nanern was there in a flash, followed by Koron en', who together, burrowed their shoulders into the stinking fur, the carcass finally rolling off the otherwise hail warrior below, who sprang to his feet with the flash of a wild smile that gave his name credit, before running into the fray with Dima and Dorainen.

Lindo swirled his long sword with lightning-fast movements, Pengon battling at his side. The Bard Warrior sliced and then stabbed as he turned on his heels again and again. Glammo was close by, sinking his short swords into black flesh, stabbing forwards and then backwards, crouching low and then springing up to flip backwards and appear behind his foe.

They were nearly done, for only a few dozen goblins remained, yet they suddenly froze, their heads turning to the South before the shrieking began, and the remaining orcs scurried off towards the trees. Dima held up his hand to stop his warriors from following them, for something approached, something that had scared the goblins more than they themselves had.

"Lhing!" spat Dima as he signaled their standard formation for a spider attack.

Rafno stood rooted to the spot, his legs feeling suddenly gelatinous. The moment had finally arrived, and his stomach churned and his ears rang – he would finally confront the legendary spiders of Mirkwood. He heard Dima's words from those first days of training, 'Eyes, chin' – wherever _that_ might be – 'between the legs and thorax, _that_ is how you can kill them'. And then Antien's words came to his mind, 'steer clear of the pincer, which moves vertically only, never sideways, if you are stabbed, move away as quickly as you can, cut the pincer off if you can.' Yes, he could do this, 'let them come', he yelled to himself, as he opened his legs and readied his sword high, his face set in a fierce scowl that effectively hid the absolute terror that was now coursing through his petrified body.

Glammohtar was, likewise, battling with his own, rebellious body, desperately trying to get it to comply with his wishes, yet all he could do was stare with his mouth wide open as the first spiders broke through the tree line.

It was Lindo who broke his paralysis, yelling desperately for him to react.

"Glammo!"

Whipping his head round to Lindo, he nodded, turning back to the approaching beasts, adopting his defense stance and bracing himself, for his stomach was already rebelling at the stench that began to invade his nostrils, and he would _not_ vomit now, for he would surely earn himself a second warrior name…

…

Over two weeks had passed since The Company had ridden out, and Legolas was anxious to get his arm out of the harness he had worn for the last three. He had regained his strength and had started his morning cross-country runs after breakfast, but sword training was impossible, and archery simply out of the question.

He had been supervising Barathon's training, and his cousin had, surprisingly, improved. He had held his tongue and complied with orders, and could now be considered a passable warrior. Not to the standards of The Company, by no means, but his attitude had improved – 'but would it last?' he wondered. 'Would he, under duress, follow orders he did not understand or agree with?' There was no way of knowing, and so although the situation had improved, he was by no means happy with it.

On this particular morning, Legolas had completed his morning duties and was lying on his bed at the fortress, relaxing before the afternoon meal. Thandion lent on the window sill, looking out into the early winter landscape beyond, lost in thought.

He had just gone through four hours of examination, under the shrewd eyes of Balentar and Antien. They had asked him all nature of questions on herbs, procedures and techniques. He had been required to recite the names of muscles, bones, diagnose symptoms. When they had finished, he had been so nervous that Legolas had invited him to his rooms for a glass of wine. They had ended up doing much more than that, and it had taken the healer's mind off the outcome of his examination. Now, he felt relaxed, resigned to whatever they would decide.

"Thandion, come," gestured Legolas, patting the bed beside him.

Once his lover had sat himself down, Legolas watched him carefully.

"If you pass, what will you do?" he inquired, as he glanced back down to the book he read.

"Well, if I pass, I have two years of internship to complete before I will become a head healer. But eventually, I strive to study under the master healer, Lord Elrond. I know! I know!" he exclaimed, "there are so many who wish the same, yet I am studying his texts carefully. Perhaps if I apply for the exchange program…"

"You would do well, my friend, I know it."

"What, what is he like? Lord Elrond? Do you know him well, Legolas?" he asked tentatively, hoping for a little insight into the mighty healer, one he had worshipped as a hero his entire life.

"Um.. what exactly do you wish to know, Thandion?"

"Is he patient and kind as I imagine him to be? Is he as wise as they say? an erudite?" finished Thandion, now enthused with the flame of intellectual adoration.

"Well, patient and kind he _is_, wise he also seems to me for he is Lore Master, versed in many subjects, and – he is of strong heart and mind, Thandion, for he has endured much in his long years, and yet he is not bitter, but empathic beyond what would seem reasonable."

"'Tis true then, 'tis all true," he mused, almost as if to himself, his eyes dreamy and far away. "'Tis said that he can alleviate pain and suffering with a mere touch, or a word, something in his voice, they say."

"Well, I have been his patient, and he is, indeed most skilled, Thandion. I took an arrow to the side, nothing serious, but the head was embedded somewhere….in there…," he gestured vaguely to his side. "There is relief in his touch, Thandion, that much I know to be true."

"Perhaps one day you will introduce him to me… who knows!" he smiled. "Oh and, uh – is he _attractive_?"

"His beauty lies in his strength, Thandion. His face is stern, severe, almost. He wears the lines of age and experience upon his face, his voice projects wisdom and leadership, and deep understanding of the world – herein lies his beauty, Thandion. Now, his body is strong, lithe – not a warrior's body, mind you, and very, very well-proportioned."

Thandion was frowning now, for how would Legolas know all that about Lord Elrond's body…

"You seem to know the lord – very well…" he said, as if lost.

"Yes, I know him well, very well," he said, holding Thandion's gaze until understanding dawned in the youthful blue eyes that were now bulging, his mouth open.

"You – you are, you are _lovers_?" he blurted.

Smiling saucily, Legolas said nothing more, watching in amusement as his young lover stared uncomprehendingly at him.

"You mean… I am, I am sleeping with Lord Elrond's _lover_! Elbereth I will never get a placement now, and even if I did, I would be _trounced_ by…."

He was interrupted by the king's mad chuckling.

"Ai, Thandion, peace!" he giggled again. "Lord Elrond, Lord Erestor and of course, Lord Glorfindel are my Noldorin lovers, yet no troth have we pledged, there is no promise of fealty, they know I would be incapable of such a thing – rejoice, for should you wish to join us some time, I am sure that would not be a problem…" he turned back to reading his letter, but with one eye on his young, innocent lover. And indeed he was not disappointed as a look of utter shock came to his lovely face, he had been struck dumb – well who wouldn't, with the kind of suggestion _he_ had just made, for to share a bed with those portents of nature was fantasy, simply wishful thinking to most. Yet he meant what he had said, for Erestor especially, would surely be attracted to Thandion, this he knew - Erestor enjoyed a little dominance in the bedroom, there was a definite kink to the serious Noldorin advisor.

"All this talk, this innuendo of taking pleasure with, with – _them_, I -,"

"You are hard, sweet Thandion?" he asked, brushing his palm over his groin. "Then come, bar yourself to this, one-armed warrior, and show me your desire," he smiled, watching as the healer's eyes closed in pleasure, before opening again as his hands moved to the strings of his breeches, pulling abruptly and freeing his eager erection for the king's perusal.

…..…..

Two days later, The Company rode into the fortress, dusty, filthy, battered and bruised, as always. Yet this time, Legolas and Galdithion were there to greet them, standing off to the side, for there would surely be wounded amongst them. Indeed, Nanern rode before Ram en', although he was awake and seemingly lucid, albeit with a grimace over his tired face.

Koron en' rode with Pengon, his leg heavily bandaged, and Glammo, although riding alone, sported a sling where his left arm rested.

Legolas was overjoyed to see Dorainen, their new recruit, ride in beside Idhreno, nothing but a scratch on his cheek to show for his first ride with The Company. Nothing serious then, discerned Legolas, as he turned to smile at Galdithion, who was too busy staring at his Noldo lover to even realize, to which Legolas simply rolled his eyes playfully.

Dima waited for the three injured to be taken inside, and then ordered the rest in for a routine check up before allowing them back to the barracks and the crowd of family and friends that waited patiently. Yet before he himself dismounted, he spotted the commander and saluted, throwing him a reassuring smile.

It had been some time since Legolas had been on this end of The Company's arrival, and so he took a few moments to observe. Now inside the halls, he spotted Thandion who was tending to Koron en' who had a nasty slash to his thigh. Glammo sat perched on the side of another table, resisting Balentar's hand as he tried to push him down into a horizontal position. The Noldo healer bent close to whisper something into the lieutenant's ear, something which was obviously unsavory, as Glammo immediately conceded, laying himself down and allowing the healers to take control of his body with a sour grimace. Legolas made a mental note to ask the healer what he had said, for it could be a useful tactic indeed.

Nanern seemed to be the worst off, for he lay still as Antien inspected his side, and Legolas now approached, keeping his distance.

"Is it serious?" mumbled Legolas from behind the Greenwood healer.

"No, but he will be off duty for two weeks, my Lord. A cut to the side that has bled profusely, he will need the time to recuperate his strength."

"Very well, thank you, Antien."

The healer simply nodded as he bent over the wound and began his treatment.

The prognosis for Koron en' was much the same, two week's rest, and Glammo would be out for a week with a nasty slash to the bicep. It was just as well, thought Legolas, as he went in search of Elladan. He himself was only now starting to train, and the holster would be off tomorrow. He would suggest that for the next two weeks they rest and recover while he himself trained hard with Barathon, for he had so much to work on in so little time, he was actually glad they would not be riding out immediately.

Dima was sitting near the entrance of the healing halls, still in full gear, filthy from battle and days on the road. He sipped on a cup of fresh water an assistant had procured for him, and as Legolas approached, he stood and bowed, before the lord gestured for him to sit once more.

"So tell me, Captain. How went the hunting?" he asked as his eyes scrutinized those of his most trusted of elves.

"It went extraordinarily well, my Lord. We exterminated a good number and we believe the situation is back under control. Captains Gondien and Barabor will return in one week to report, but the outlook is most positive."

"Well done, then, my friend. And The Company? What of Glammo and Rafno, and our new recruit?"

"Dorainen has committed himself well. He will need a little further training, but he has shown courage and companionship, and skill with the bow and blades. As for lieutenants Melven and Elladan, I can give you an excellent report on their performance. Elrondion especially, strikes me as an obvious candidate for leadership, Legolas; he shows many qualities, and his sense of sacrifice is very strong. He cares for others before seeing to his own comfort, and is well-loved for it."

Legolas smiled then, knowing exactly what Dima meant. He had seen it himself that first time they had ridden together.

"Yes, I agree. Let us see what a little more experience yields then."

"Yes. Ah, and one more thing, my Lord. I believe it is time for Melven to prepare for the short sword trials. He has become very good, you know, I commended him on the field. Elladan is also improving notably with the sword, although he will need a little more time, I believe, and not for lack of skill, but of physical strength – he will need to build his musculature."

"Well, well. Who would have thought," mused Legolas aloud, thinking on that day when Melven had boasted his skill with the weapon, unwittingly challenging a grand master in the art. He smiled indulgently, for his friend had come so far since that day, and now, he was on the verge of gaining his first master…

"Dima, we are in for a two-week halt, for we cannot ride with three less, not now. I will be two-armed as of tomorrow and so I will train with Melven and Elladan, and you will take Barathon and Dorainen."

"Barathon is riding?"

Legolas' face turned sour, his lips setting firmly into a thin line.

"The council has forced the issue, Dima. It is now beyond my control. I did, however, manage to work in a binding condition, that if he does not follow orders, at the slightest hint of rebellion, he will be excluded – for good."

Dima sat staring unbelievingly at his commander. "They have disregarded your council?"

"Completely, my friend, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. All we can do now is pray to Yavanna that he heeds our words and not be the cause of grief."

They both sat there, holding each other's eyes, both knowing that the possibilities of Barathon ever working harmoniously within The Company were scarce indeed, and as for causing grief – well, that was simply a question of time.

…..

Once Dima had left for the barracks, Legolas returned in search of Nanern's room. Finding him immediately, he entered the softly-lit room, finding it occupied by four others, family of his warrior, he knew. Nodding, he moved over to the bed where he lay.

"Nané," he called softly, looking down on the warrior from beside the bed. He was pale, his features worn and tired. Funny, he mused, for he looked older suddenly, care worn.

"Hwindo," he mumbled as he opened his eyes slowly.

"How goes it, Nané?" he asked, crouching down by his head, reaching out to touch his cold brow.

"Alright, just a few days," he mumbled back."

"A few weeks, perhaps. Take your rest, my friend. We are not riding out until you are well, so you will not miss anything."

"Um… good," he said, as his eyes slipped shut once more. Rising, he smiled kindly to the warrior's family and friends who had stood back to give the commander some privacy.

"Let me know should you require anything," he said to them, to which they smiled and bowed, placing their hands upon his shoulders and back as he left.

Satisfied that his warriors were settled and in need of nothing, he went in search of Elladan and Melven, yet he did not find them where he had expected to, for Melven had escaped his bed, much to the annoyance of Balentar.

"My Lord, on the few occasions that I have treated that lieutenant, it has always been the same, he is as stubborn as a mule I tell you!"

"Peace, Balentar. Should I retrieve him for you?"

"Nay, my Lord. He will be alright, but it is protocol to stay in the halls for 24 hours with blade wounds, they often cause infection."

"Aye, well. I will escort him myself if I see any sign of it, will that do, healer?"

"Yes," he smiled, taking a deep breath. Forgive me my short temper, my Lord," he said as he raked his hand through his hair.

"You are tired," observed Legolas. "You should take some rest, Balentar."

"Yes, yes. I have been making some progress with my antidote for Red Fang, but there is something missing, something that eludes me – slips through my fingers again and again…"

"Your work is commendable, Balentar. If the antidote is ever developed, it will be one of the most important contributions to healing for a very long time. We lose many to that beast's vile toxin, and many more suffer its effects for many years. Would that you find the missing link soonest, my friend."

"Indeed, my Lord. And you, will be pleased to know that tomorrow, your arm will be free of that 'contraption' as you put it."

"I know, I have been counting the days, Balentar, 'tis truly uncomfortable, and it itches fiercely!"

"Yes," chuckled the healer. It would do. Come see me after breakfast then."

"I will be most punctual," he smiled, before nodding and walking away in search of his wayward Noldor friends.

However, he came face to face with Thandion, who stood before him, smiling enigmatically at his lover.

Legolas watched him carefully, cocking his head to the side and wondering what it was that Thandion was smiling about, and then it suddenly dawned on him.

"You passed?"

"I did!"

"Ai," he exclaimed as he flung his good arm around his waist and whirled the surprised and now delighted healer around."Healer Thandion…, um – it sounds good!"

"Yes, after so long, Legolas. I will visit my family later this evening, they are planning a little celebration."

"I am so very happy for you, my friend. You will do well, I know it."

"Thank you, Legolas – for your friendship."

"You are most very welcome," he smiled, before nodding and leaving in search of his friends, a stunned Antien and Balentar watching on from the other room…. How had young Thandion managed _that_?

…

He found his friends in the first place he looked – at the field barracks together with Galdithion. They had gathered in Melven's room, for Elladan had agreed to aid in his escape, so long as he submitted to his orders as a healer, which he had readily done, and now sat upon the bed as the other two lounged in the chairs at its side.

"You have irritated the Noldo healer to no end, my friend..." said Legolas, thus announcing himself as he sauntered into the room and sat on the end of the bed.

"Aye well, he wanted to drug me – Elbereth, 'tis only a small wound, it does not merit bedrest!" he said as he flapped his good arm in the air.

"Melven, the reason for that protocol is poison. Over half our warriors that take insignificant cuts such as yours fall with infection or intoxication in 24 to 48 hours…"

"_Half_?" exclaimed Elladan. "By my word, had I known I would not have aided you, my friend."

"Well it is too late now, is it not? Besides, you are here to help me if anything untoward should happen…" said Melven, although truth be told, he had visibly paled when Legolas had given him that little morsel of information.

"So what is our schedule now, Legolas?" asked Elladan.

"Well, with Nanern and Koron en' out for two weeks, and Melven for one, we cannot ride out. So, we will stay here for that time. The fact is, that it serves us well, for I have only just begun to train again, and this – thing – comes off tomorrow, so sword and knife training are compulsory for me. Now, a little bird has told me that Melven may be ready to take his grade as master in short swords, and that Elladan may begin to train for his in the long sword…"

"Ah! Wonderful!" exclaimed Galdithion. "How long before they can do their trials, do you think?"

"I do not know yet, Gal. For the moment, I suggest we take advantage of the time and train together for the next two weeks. From tomorrow, endurance and strength training for one week, especially you, Elladan. Then, I can tutor Melven, and Dima could tutor Elladan, – what do you think?

"Perfect!" all three said at once, before chuckling at the coincidence. However, Legolas broke the good humour with his next comment.

"Also, Prince Barathon will be joining us, although he will train with Dima and Dorainen for the moment…"

"Ai Legolas, do not tell me they have forced his inclusion?" said Melven, his face a fierce scowl, for he loathed the elf with a vengeance.

"Yes – I am afraid that is, indeed the case. No amount of arguing has been sufficient to sway those that would see the prince in what they consider his 'rightful place'. I have been working with him since you left, but he needs all the input he can get, and…. I need your cooperation, my friends…"

"And you have it, Legolas," said Elladan, who turned his head to Melven, who also nodded, yet his face was a mask of steel.

"Then let us do this, for Barathon must form a part of The Company on our next ride – and… Melven will do so as a master of the short swords if I have anything to do with it – are you up to it, Lieutenant?" he asked, a definite challenge to his voice.

Melven grinned, as his mind catapulted him back to Imladris, on that day he had dared to teach the Greenwood prince… and yet how fate had come full term and now, he had a real opportunity to show his skill, to finally be recognized as worthy. He would give it his all, and should he fail, he would simply try again, and again.

"I am up to it, Legolas, if you will show me the way," he said, his eyes fixed on those of his friend's, returning the challenge.

"I am up to it – Melven. It would be my honour to guide you to mastery."

"Ah, I almost forgot," interrupted Elladan as his hand plunged into his pocket, revealing a closed fist which he now held out before him.

"Show me your prize, Elrondion," urged Legolas, an expectant smile upon his face.

Opening his fist, Legolas saw the very tip of a pincer, a spider's pincer. Smiling, he looked to his friend for confirmation.

"You killed your fist Yellow Belly?"

"I did," he said, his eyes glittering.

Yet before he could congratulate his friend, Melven had dug his own, good hand into his pocket and now held out his hand, a yellow fang lying upon it.

"Your first warg?"

"Yes!" replied the grinning Melven.

"Then tomorrow, we celebrate, just us four, and Lindo, if he will come!"

"He will come, Hwindo, I will make sure of it!" said a smiling Melven.


	23. The Space In Between

Chapter 23: The Space in Between

In the two weeks of training that followed, Melven ran cross-country with Legolas and Elladan every morning. After, he would spend hours simply twirling the short swords as his tutor put him through the footwork. His shoulder and back muscles had developed so that now, he had gained both volume and definition, much to the delight of Lindo. Later, they had begun the dance with the knives, yet not allowing the blades to touch. On the last leg of his training, the _real_ dance began - behind closed doors, for those that were to judge him should not be subjected to any faults he may have shown. They were to watch as if for the first time, with no prior knowledge of his skill, other than what they had already seen on the battle field.

While Legolas and Melven labored in solitude, Elladan and Dima, sometimes with Galdithion, were working on strength. He would spend the hours pulling himself up and down a low hanging branch, or lifting his legs to his chest. Another of Dima's favourites was placing a trunk of solid wood over his shoulders and have him squat and stand for long minutes on end, and although it was now winter, he had sweated more than he had in his entire lifetime, at least that is what it felt like to him. During the last week, he had worked with the sword, but like Melven, he swirled and whirled the blade, working on the precision of his movements and his footwork, no contact whatsoever.

Through it all, Dima would sometimes join them with his two charges, Barathon and Dorainen. The prince behaved himself for the most part, save for a few, sour looks that he simply had not been able to hold back. He was, however, far from the grade of master in any weapon, but the extra practice had done some good, and Dorainen – well, he simply battled on, and Dima was duly impressed by his patience, for spending so much time in the presence of the facetious prince was no easy task.

When Melven's big day finally came, he stood before Dimaethor and Gondien, the entire Company behind them in rigorous silence.

Together with Legolas, he ran through the stances and then battled for long minutes on end, before the standard exercise ended and the free work began. Their blades met in sonorous clangs and scrapes, blue sparks flying around them as they somersaulted and twisted, stood upon their arms and cartwheeled in such a skilled display of gymnastics that Elladan was left wondering how his friend had become so proficient in it. Finally, the aspiring master stood heaving for breath, awaiting the captains' verdict.

It had been Dima to step forward and place a hand on his shoulder, announcing the words that Melven would never forget.

"Welcome, to the brotherhood of Greenwood masters."

Melven had heaved a great sigh, not of relief, but of sheer satisfaction. It felt good, for life could get no better, he thought then, only his son was missing for it to be perfect…

Dima had then produced the beautifully-wrought band of bronze and mithril, placing it just below that which marked him as a member of The Company. Melven had then saluted his judges formally, before turning, his face alive, split wide open with a great beam, his eyes twinkling in happiness and self-satisfaction. He first ran to embrace Hwindohtar, his tutor, then Lindo and Elladan, and then finally, the entire Company had descended upon him. It had been a day to remember, one of many both he and Elladan would experience during their memorable first year of service abroad.

Once Koron en' and Nanern were back on their feet and fit for combat, Barathon's moment of glory had finally arrived, as he rode out with Legolas and the Company for the first time. His proud father had watched it all, seen how his son had danced with them, his new armband sitting high on his bicep - and for the first time in many years, a surge of fatherly pride shot through him; he tempered it though, and just prayed that Barathon's arrogance would finally be cast away, and that he would come to be accepted by the others. And yet whatever fantasy his heart had created, his mind remained skeptical, for Legolas had been right that day when he had told him he was trusting to luck. It was not Legolas who would feel responsible, should anything happen, but he himself.

…..

For the next four months, The Company fell into their normal routine once more; three weeks of patrolling where no other would venture, four days rest, and out again.

They battled spiders, wargs, orcs and uruks, although they had seen no more of the blonde abominations that Hwindo had been unlucky enough to meet personally. The wraiths were felt, and sometimes heard in the southernmost regions of the area now known as Mirkwood, but thankfully, the spirits had not ventured into the woods.

They had also come into frequent contact with humans from Laketown and Dale, who had a flourishing trade route with the Greenwood, and for the most part, political dealings were good. Elladan had been wanting to visit the waterside city for a long time, but so far, he had not had the opportunity. He would find it though, for the area promised to be just as culturally diverse as the Greenwood itself. Humans, dwarves, elves, the mixture was tantalizing, as were the possibilities.

They had all been left behind on at least one mission due to injuries. Dima had taken a nasty slash to the side, Pengon had taken another arrow through his leg and Ram en' had broken his ankle. Rafno had been bitten by a warg on the shoulder, Dorainen had smashed his head on a rock in a nasty fall, knocking him senseless for a whole week - the list was endless, and their bodies were witness to the fierce fighting it took to defend the Greenwood. Koron en' had told Rafno that only now were their bodies back to their normal states – strong, on top form, and covered in scars of varying ages and states of healing.

They had also been witness to many funerals for those that had fallen in the course of their duty, field warriors from almost all of the Greenwood detachments, recruits and veterans alike, and it had affected them almost just as much as it had that first time, when they had laid True Heart Beria to rest.

Yet not all was pain and suffering, and Elladan and Melven had been avidly and enthusiastically taught the Sylvan and Avarin warrior dances. Frantic reels in which warriors would select a female and jig around the dance floor, before launching her into the air; it was downright dangerous, and spectacular as no other dances they had ever seen, not even the human ones. Other dances included the most incredible acrobatics, and even sword and knife fights. Elladan had excelled in them all, loving every moment of the impromptu classes he received, either from a company member, or the many, fawning females that pursued him when at home and on leave, much to Galdithion's exasperated delight.

Yet during those months, Barathon was still Barathon – for he had no warrior name to mention. He was tolerated for the most part, and indeed behaved himself, save for the odd sarcastic remark that he simply could not control. Yet he had not been fully accepted into The Company. When at the fortress however, they would include him in their off-duty pursuits, simply ignoring him if his presence became annoying, but there was no brotherly banter with him.

The prince learned to accept this, strange situation. It was true they did include him, yet he was baffled at why they would not relax in his presence, why they sometimes disregarded his comments, and indeed why he still had not been baptized himself. It wore him down, for he was trying hard, and was coming to like his fellow warriors, even Legolas had a smile for him on occasion – yet he was at a loss as to how he could redeem the situation.

Elladan and Galdithion had flourished together as a couple, yet the healer still hesitated about telling his father the full extent of it, something that worried Legolas to no end, for his choice, however obvious it had once seemed to him, was no longer so, and he had been forced to consider the possibility that the half-elf did at least toy with the idea of mortality.

Legolas continued his barrage of letters to Imladris and Lothlorien. His relationship with Arwen continued to baffle him, for they shared such confidences that only the closest of friends would. There was plenty of sexual innuendo too, although Arwen knew she would not be reciprocated, yet Legolas would rise to the bait, for he knew she knew it was in jest.

His yearning for Glorfindel had grown stronger, and so now he would simply remind himself that there were only a few more months to go, before they would see each other again, whether he would travel to Imladris, or Glorfindel to the Greenwood he knew not, only that it would be, and perhaps he would take his lover's lost armband with him…

And thus, amidst fierce battles, friendship and love, early winter turned to deep winter, and both the Evergreen Wood and the Greenwood were covered in snow, the warriors now clad in their winter uniforms of leather and fur…

….

The Golden Wood did not suffer such harsh weather, and neither did Imladris, for the rings of power provided not only shelter from the enemy, but shelter from the elements, and so, Galadriel, Lady of Light, sat in a flimsy white dress upon the shores of Nimrodel, on this, the morning of Arwen's birthday celebration. Twirling a delicate white blossom in her white hand, her blue eyes saw far, far away, contemplating events that were yet to come, or that perhaps would never be.

Close by, was Celeborn, sharing a light-hearted conversation with Haldir and Arwen, oblivious to their Lady's incipient vision, one she was sure to remember for many years to come.

As she stared off into the future, her world suddenly tilted violently, wrenching the breath from her body in one, forceful gasp as her mouth opened to compensate for the lack of oxygen and her hands gripped the earth below them, desperately keeping her body from sinking to the ground.

Celeborn, Arwen and Haldir were beside her in moments, yet the lord held out his palm as he shook his head, showing Haldir that he should not touch her, should not talk – Arwen would already know.

"Nooooo!" she pleaded. "_Fools_!" she spat, now on hands and knees, her golden waves falling to the forest floor.

Another, long, drawn out gasp escaped her as her eyes bulged and tears sprang into them, only to fall in a steady flow, wetting the grass below her.

"_Yavanna, protect him – deliver him from darkness_," she repeated, over and over again as the frantic scenes played out before her, and yet some were repeated in which the beginning or the ending would be different, as if her mind were telling her unequivocally that these things would indeed happen, but that their nature and outcome were not yet defined.

It was overwhelming her, for there were so many scenes, people and places assaulting her mind now, one after the other, as if some urgency were forcing the situation, a chain of seemingly unrelated events and people. She sobbed piteously as another wave of tears spilled from her now red eyes, her whole body heaving under the strain of overloaded emotions and feelings of utter dread and despair.

With a strangled scream, her forearms wavered before letting out and sending her plummeting, landing face down into the wet grass, lungs still heaving, eyes wide as her mind struggled to bring her back to reality.

They were all left breathing hard, speechless, for to watch the lady through it all had been harrowing. She had suffered and Celeborn knew this had been no ordinary vision, as did Arwen – this had been different, and when she was sufficiently recovered from it, he knew she would tell him. For now, he gathered her into his arms and led her away, Haldir and Arwen walking slowly behind them.

That night, after the celebrations had died down, Arwen walked into her grandmother's rooms, only to find her sitting quietly upon the balcony, bathed in silver moonlight as she gazed over the tops of the magnificent Mellyrn that was her home.

Gliding over to her and kneeling beside her, she too, looked out over the dreamy, soothing landscape, waiting for Galadriel to invite conversation, for Arwen would not interrupt her.

After long moments of silence, the Lady of Light finally broke her quiet introspection.

"Did you feel it?"

"I have been – troubled all day, and yet I do not understand the wherefore of it."

"Will you look then? For I cannot describe it to you," confessed Galadriel.

"What will I see?" asked Arwen tentatively, for she had seldom seen her tutor as affected as she was just now. Something important had happened, of that she had no doubt.

"Perhaps – perhaps you will see what I have seen, and perhaps not. Will you come?"

Arwen watched her grandmother's eyes as they searched her own. She seemed to need it, as if she were seeking confirmation of what she herself had seen earlier that day, and Arwen, never a coward, would accede.

"I will look."

….

What a beautiful day had dawned, mused Elrond as he stood on the balcony of his private rooms. The morning was chilly, and yet there was a hint of spring on the air, for the light was changing and the smells of nature had shifted.

Half turning his head, he acknowledged Erestor's quiet presence beside him as he too, took in the splendorous morning.

"Beautiful, is it not?" murmured Elrond, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

"Indeed, spring is not far off…" he said as he glanced at his lover briefly. He seemed lost, not unpleasantly so, but – absent, as if seeing something that he himself could not. He attributed it to the importance of the day, for it was his daughter's birthday, one he would not be able to attend.

"You are pensive, Elrond," he prompted, wondering if he would get a reply.

"'Tis a strange thing," he murmured. "Change is coming, Erestor."

"Aye, the season changes…"

"No…"

Erestor turned to face the lord then, puzzled at his confused state, until he saw his eyes …. grey eyes that shone with the thirst for knowledge, anchored on the horizon in deep concentration. He had been right, for Elrond was indeed, far away, a vision, perhaps, he thought.

"Change on a scale I have _never_ seen. Something has shifted, slanted - events are spiraling away from the path, not – quite – right…"

It was not a vision, but more a succession of emotions, and an increasing sense of foreboding settled in his gut until he finally tore his eyes away from the horizon and trained them on a suddenly startled Erestor.

"Something is not right. Something is going to happen, Erestor, I can feel it."

"Something – _bad_?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes; something that should not be. Something that is endangering our very existence…

A frigid shiver ran down the chief advisor's spine, for he did not doubt Elrond's words, he never had.

…..

Glorfindel sat before the fire they had lit, for it was safe to do so here, and the night was unusually cold, or so it seemed to the general.

Henian sat beside him, and across the fire, was Cormion.

Their patrol had been uneventful for the most part, the odd skirmish here and there that had had no consequences, save for a few cuts and bruises. And yet Glorfindel was oddly quiet, irritable almost, and Henian could hold back the question no longer, for he and the general had become close friends during the exchange program for which he had volunteered.

"Glorfindel," he called quietly.

There was no answer, and Henian was forced to be more explicit.

"What is it, my friend? You are quiet, troubled, something lays heavily on your mind."

Glorfindel glanced at his friend before turning his eyes back to the flames.

Thinking he might know what the problem was, Henian turned to Cormion, who understood immediately as he stood and nodded, before turning away and leaving the two friends alone.

"Now, will you tell me?" he coaxed softly.

"I do not know, Henian. I simply – 'tis as if I have lost something, someone…"

"To death?" asked the captain, now a little concerned at what Glorfindel would say, for he had not expected that.

"Perhaps – 'tis sorrow mixed, with anxiety, a deeply-rooted worry that I cannot shake."

"Since when?"

"Today, this morning. Henian," he paused here, wondering if he should continue, "Henian, 'tis something about your home, Legolas, perhaps."

"Legolas? You mean something has happened?" he blurted, his eyes now wide with fright and worry.

"I know only that _that_ is the source, what it is, or when it has or will happen I know not."

"Valar, Glorfindel. What is happening to our world? There seem to be so many changes in so little time, and yet all centre on our friend, well – _my _friend, your _lover,_" he added, "events seem to be hurtling us towards some kind of goal, something as yet hidden from us…"

"Yes," said Glofindel, now facing Henian. "You have synthesized it well, for that is what it seems like to me. I do not think anything has happened to him, my friend, and yet it may…"

"Our kingdom would wither and die should he be lost to us. The king would wane and all would crumble before us, Glorfindel."

"I believe," said Glorfindel, thinking as he spoke, "that it is not only the Greenwood that would suffer that fate Henian, for he is meant for a larger plan; something great will happen in our age, Henian, and we will be a part of it, we priviledged few … and yet today's strange turn of events has me worried beyond reason.

….

Thranduil stood on his balcony. It was cold and he wrapped his fur cloak around his solid frame as his hair rippled back in the soft breeze.

He reached out to the souls of the trees that had thrived in the family gardens below, trees _she _had once so loved. He felt them humming, a deep, rich vibration that comforted him – for comfort he needed.

What a strange day it had been, he mused. His worry for his son had risen dramatically, yet it was more than that. There was some strange, elusive knowledge just on the brink of his conscious mind. He grasped at it, only to feel it dissipate and then coil around his mind once more.

Was it Barathon? he wondered. Was it simply a foreboding of the concerns his son had expressed, that sooner or later he would be the cause of grief? Perhaps, and yet not so – for the knowledge was coming closer again, and so he closed his eyes and concentrated with all that he was, reached out for the truth just beyond his ken, and yet – once more, it slipped through his fingers like summer sand.

…..

"Arwen… Arwen!" cried Galadriel as she staggered over to her grandchild, who now knelt in the soft moss not far from her mirror, the one she had just looked into, the water still rippling innocently, belying the powerful images that it had just projected.

"Arwen, child! _Heed_ me!" she shouted, desperate for even the smallest sign that Arwen was not harmed, irreversibly traumatized by what she had seen, for if it had been anything like what she herself had seen that very morning, she would need help now.

"Arwen, hear me," she said now, calmer, more commanding, and indeed, Arwen finally settled her stormy grey eyes on the blue irises of Galadriel, and the words bubbled forth from her own, unbelieving mouth.

"What a tragic, marvelous, heart-breaking life to lead…. What days of glory and defeat we will see, what days of grief and joy, comfort and injury, life and death – mortality and immortality – yet which will it be? What will be the way of things? The path towards light and goodness? Or the eternal dark of evil?" she ended with a whisper, her eyes alight with the fire of a thousand stars.

"And what of the space in between, Arwen, what of the space between?" asked Galadriel, her voice low and demanding. "Light _and_ darkness, glory _and_ defeat – mortality _and _immortality."

"Yes," she whispered back, her eyes unfocussed, "the space in between…"

….

Far away, to the North, dark figures sat patiently outside a modest tent. They had sat that way for hours, unmoving almost except for the odd flinch. It was proving to be more difficult than expected, yet they prayed for glad tidings, especially one amongst their number. He sat closer to the entrance, his face, stern and care-worn, a stony mask of determination, framed by long dark hair and noble eyes of stormy grey.

His prayers were finally answered when the wailing cry of an infant ripped through the silence, and a collective gasp of relief resounded through the glade.

He finally allowed the mask to drop, and the light of hope lit his face in the somber night.

'Welcome, my son, welcome.'


	24. Into The Mirkwood

Chapter 24: Into the Mirkwood

It was dark, and cold, and although it snowed copiously towards the north, it would not stick here, for the ground was humid, wet and sticky with the vile expulsions from the dead or agonizing trees.

After bidding their horses move northwards and hiding their larger panniers in the last of the healthy trees, they had walked south for three hours before stopping at a relatively dry spot, sufficient, at least, to sit and take some rest. There could be no fire here, for they would have company all too soon. It would also draw the moths and bats with the somewhat vile result of having to literally bat them away, or listen to the sizzling of papery wings as the flames caught on the huge, furry moths, attracted to the orange light and yet unaware of its danger. Lindo had even had a bat fly into his hair once…and Glammo had had to cut it out, taking a fair number of chestnut locks with him, some of which he had stuffed into his pockets for future use.

And thus they huddled together in relative silence, allowing themselves only to whisper, their breath visible as it puffed from their mouths in the frigid cold.

"The area has deteriorated much in these last months. We still have half a day's travel before we reach Lithaldoren, and yet we are already well into the Mirkwood – I fear what we may find tomorrow," whispered Pengon.

"The trees are all but gone, Hwindo, even if the village is still there, how would they have sustained themselves, for surely nothing grows here," added Idhreno.

"There are still a few that harbor life, Idhreno, perhaps the Avar have managed to stave it off in some measure around their village, however you are right, Pengon, we may very well have our worst fears confirmed tomorrow.

Rafno sighed deeply. He remembered the first time they had come here; it had been his first ride with The Company, one that had been fraught with danger and strange revelations. They had ventured further south in search of three that had been taken, returning with only two, one of who was Swallow, the lovely child that had witnessed her father's torture and agonizing death. 'What of her?' he wondered, 'what of Tui?'

They fell into a waking slumber, or at least that is what Rafno had come to call it. Their bodies rested and their minds simply meditated, thinking of nothing in particular but not losing its ability to sense sound, movement or smell – a strange reverie that Elladan had learned to emulate, at least to an extent.

Glammo huddled close to Lindo, sharing his body heat and a tender touch under the blankets. Ram en' watched with a raised eyebrow, as Rhrawthir grinned and Koron en' rolled his eyes. Yet they were all endeared to the relationship that had flourished between the two warriors, even though they felt compelled to show disapproval on those rare occasions when they would flaunt their affair.

And so the night passed in silence, until the first inkling of light could be intuited and the warriors uncurled themselves, stretching silently and readying themselves for the trek ahead, their minds still harbouring a smattering of hope for the Avari villagers and Swallow, yet their stomachs and hearts were heavy for what their brains told them, logically, was the truth.

….

The journey had been dour indeed, the mud and slime sucked in their boots, reaching way past their ankles.

It must have been around midday when they heard the first screams, and their stomachs dropped to their drenched boots. Shouts and screams for aid echoed around the barren trees, and the smell of burning wood assaulted them until it became so strong their eyes watered and their vision blurred. The trees were alight, and Lithaldoren's village was under siege; they had not left, as Legolas knew they would not, and his heart clenched painfully.

The hour it took them to reach the area was the longest that Rafno remembered. They wanted, _needed_ to run, yet their feet sank into the mud and slime, causing almost all of them to fall into the vile detritous. And as they waded through it, they all set to remembering those quiet, introspective villagers they had visited just a few months before, with the exception of Dorainen and Barathon. The incursion they had made to extract the three that had been taken, only to find one of them along the way, atrociously tortured and then slaughtered. The elf had been Swallow's father – they remembered her especially, her lovely round, honey-coloured eyes, her innocence, the suffering they themselves had been forced to endure by simply looking upon her, knowing she had witnessed the torture and murder of her father at such a tender age – what of her now? What of her mother? Yet however much they pumped their frantic legs, the very earth pulled them back, sucked them down as if purposefully delaying their arrival.

….

Glammo knelt in the bloody mud, panting harshly, willing his heart to work faster and provide more oxygen for his starved lungs, for they were aflame. His body felt numb, yet throbbed strangely, pulsating violently with every beat of his desperate heart.

He still clutched his sword desperately with both his cut and bloody hands, his head bowed to the ground, the tips of his dark hair brushing the small pools of crimson.

He raised his head a little then, as a body came into view. Milky white skin streaked in bloody brown, long chestnut hair caressing one side of a heart-breakingly beautiful visage, the other half had been slit open to reveal the white orbit of a once deep amber gem, the cheek bone barred to the wind, the once full rosy lips split down to the jawbone, revealing perfect white teeth.

Glammo's rebellious eyes continued downwards, settling on the severed arm, sliced from the shoulder, laying just a little off to the side of its body – enough to horrify the poor soul before death had ended the suffering. Further down did glittering grey eyes wander, registering the cloth gathered around the waist of the body, below which the blood and intestines coiled and pooled, still steaming. Once perfect white legs barred impossibly wide, twisted and uneven, the small white feet turned inwards unnaturally. Now he understood why he had not, at first, registered the green and yellow feathers of the arrow that protruded from the child's forehead, yet which now stood out so starkly, the shaft bearing a minute carving of a simple leaf – an elf had killed this child – this child of no more than 10 seasons. And then, Glammohtar turned his head to the side, and vomited violently.

A hand at his shoulder brought him back to the battlefield as he looked up and over his shoulder, registering the face of Rafno, whose eyes briefly flitted to the ruined corpse of the young girl, before turning his own anguished eyes back to his companion.

"Come," was all he could whisper as he held out a hand and helped his friend to his shaking legs.

Other elves were now wandering blindly back to the relative safety of the rotting trees, some in a daze, others walked with a purpose, especially those in dark leather jerkins. The field was strewn with the bodies of civilians, some writhed, others were still, men and women moaned and screamed as others wailed in grief, their loved ones, their friends - dead or dying in their arms.

They spotted Legolas then, flanked by Ram en' Ondo and Idhrenohtar, who deftly snatched at a female who had made to attack the commander. The two warriors handed her over to her family members as they took her away, screaming and wailing her wrath at the one that had come too late.

And yet on he walked, until he reached the corpse of the girl, where Glammo had fallen to his knees in despair just moments before. Idhreno handed him a blanket which Legolas used to wrap around her stomach and hips, allowing him to hoist her up with some difficulty, before walking towards what tonight would be one collective funeral pyre for the elven dead.

His face betrayed no emotion, just a blank mask of apparent indifference, until they reached the designated area and he knelt down, placing her carefully upon the ground before kneeling back and observing her mutilated face and the arrow that had pierced the young, still pliant bone of her skull, through to her brain and causing instant death. He bent forward then, and tenderly smoothed back the beautiful hair and placed a single kiss to her forehead, before extracting the projectile and placing it inside his quiver.

Both Rafno and Glammo were choked with emotion, their eyes swimming, yet their brains in a whirlwind of incomprehension at how this elf had been capable of taking the life of this young one, whatever the stimulus had been – neither thought themselves capable of such an act; would it – nay _should _it be judged an act of mercy? The desire to speak out was strong, yet both held back, for they were confused. Ram en' Ondo and Idhrenohtar were now watching them both, a stern grimace on their blood-streaked faces – they were being warned, thought Rafno, in no uncertain terms.

…..

The villagers had regrouped in what was left of their abode. The wounded lay on the ground or inside the half ruined huts, tended to by those that had been left relatively unscathed.

Legolas and his elves had regrouped just outside their glade, caring for their own wounded. A small stream ran through the area and here, was where their own make-shift healing sector had been established. Nanern stood watch to ensure they would be well-warned if any further danger was present, for the trees would not warn Hwindo, not here.

No one spoke, for the battle had been both long and hard. Once they had broken out into the clearing, out of the sticky mud, their worst imaginings had become reality and they had flung themselves at the attacking enemy, an enemy that had already done so much damage. They had been too late, yet there had still been civilians to save.

The Company was used to this, although for Rhrawthir, Dorainen and Barathon, this was new, for although they had seen their share of bloodshed, they had not experienced suffering on this scale, and had certainly not witnessed Sîdhoneth. They wore their expressions openly – their features twisted into grimaces of pain and grief, their faces tear-streaked, their expression one of incomprehension and confusion, even Barathon had shed tears.

The veterans had taken it upon themselves to help their less experienced comrades, with the exception of Barathon, who had wandered off, his mind in a turmoil. As they sat with Rhrawthir and Dorainen, they spoke to them, answering their questions and concerns while Rafno began to tend to the injuries that had been sustained, listening quietly as he did so. Their faces were the very picture of confused misery, and even now, Dorainen struggled with the very concept of 'peace-giving'. Who had the right to take a life, whatever the circumstances? He argued, surely only the Valar had that right, as they had been the very instigators of life…' Pengon argued kindly with him, almost as if speaking to a child, reminding him that Legolas was a Protégé of a Vala, and that even if he were not – what purpose had the girl's suffering served? What had it mattered to die seconds before or after?' The young warrior had not answered, but his anguished face remained.

Dorainen's mind told him that Pengon was right, and yet his heart would take some time to come to terms with it, and meanwhile, his impression of the commander had changed dramatically, for he was no longer the beautiful, gentle yet skilled warrior he had previously perceived - he had been capable of _kinslaying_, whatever the circumstances had been – and now, he was just a little apprehensive of him, for he was fierce, consequential to a fault, and just a little – barbaric…

Pengon had done this many times, however, and he knew that this thought process was essential for any effective Greenwood warrior, especially one of The Company – you could not fight in the Mirkwood and not accept Sîdhoneth - it was an experience they must necessarily have, however difficult it proved to be. It would take some time and perhaps a little weariness towards his commander, but he would come to terms with it, for the necessity of the act would become so plain to him with time, that he would eventually wonder how he had not understood it sooner.

Glammo, however, had not doubted the necessity of it, for he had been close to where the girl had finally fallen, had seen her traumatic ordeal play out before his very eyes – yet what had truly shocked and upset him, was the fact that he had been incapable of acting, had been within striking distance of the Uruk that held her, but he had hesitated, frozen in panic and indecision – he had not had the courage to do it, and now, his feelings of guilt were grating on his soul.

Thus, he busied his afflicted mind with the tasks he had been set by Dimaethor. He had collected his fourth armful of arrows and was now setting them down before Koron en', who sat rinsing, whittling and sharpening the tips, leaving them ready for re-use. Glammo stood once more, and felt a heavy hand on his shoulder – Lindohtar.

"Come," he said, as he lead Glammo to an unused corner a little further upstream.

There was a soft cloth and a bar of soap set to one side. "Bathe, Glammo. Take your comfort, for we will be needed again soon. Soothe away the dirt, and the sorrow – Glammo?" he asked, as he placed a finger under his down-turned chin, revealing an expression fraught with sorrow and tears, for the face of the child would not leave him, and his heart ached painfully for the young light, so cruelly snuffed out amidst the torture inflicted upon her, the green and yellow fletchings of the arrow that pierced her skull a macabre reminder of what had been necessary to end her plight, what the darkness and brought about, what _he_ had been incapable of doing. He turned his afflicted eyes upon the knowing ones of his comrade, his face one of compassion and understanding, wisdom born of many trials he had endured in The Company, and Glammo sunk into the comfort that was so freely offered. Burying his head in the strong chest, he heaved a great, gasping wail that was muted by the leather of Lindo's jerkin, his whole body tensing under the onslaught of raw, uncontrolled horror and grief. The Bard Warrior stroked his hair and hummed a simple tune, as he held the distraught warrior, until he was once more silent.

Barathon's mindset was unreadable, for he sat alone further downstream, trying and failing to order his mind. He felt weak and incapable - for the first time he felt unsure as to whether he could do this – had his cousin been right all along? The very thought of failure pushed the sadness to the depths of his convoluted mind and pushed the all too familiar bitterness to the fore, as his jaw clenched, trying and failing to swallow his feelings of ineptitude and incompetence.

….

The village dwellers had gathered around the large, raised platform where the dead had been lovingly placed, dry wood underneath for when the time came to destroy their lifeless bodies, and set their souls free. Yet there were no healthy spruce trees here to mask the stench of burning flesh.

The Company stood together behind Hwindohtar, a little off to the side, their faces stern, carefully controlled, mirroring that of their leader. The bereaved cried softly, cradled in the arms of their families and friends. Yet the tragedy that had played out that day, gave special significance to the young mother, who stood as if lost, staring at the pyre as if unable to comprehend what it was that she was doing there. She had already lost her mate just months before when The Company had been unable to save him from his torment, she had not even had his body to give rites to. They had brought back her Swallow though, had saved her…

Legolas moved forward then, staying Dimaethor's intention of following him with a subtle shake of his head. Walking slowly to where the mother stood, he called softly to her, before the stunned expressions of her family.

She turned to face the Forest Lord then, the Peace Giver as he was also known, yet her face was still a blank parchment as she stared at the elf before her.

Legolas understood then – knew _exactly _why she showed no emotion – for the feelings were too intense, too overwhelming to be expressed – it neutralized her capacity to feel; he remembered, he _knew,_ for he had felt that sensation himself once. And so, he acted in the only way he knew he would get a response. He ripped the shirt from his body and knelt before her, bare-chested as he opened his arms to the side in a signal of utter surrender – he placed himself at her mercy, that she may do as she saw fit.

The silence was absolute, his warriors tense lest she kill him, the child's family looking on in wide-eyed dismay at the temerity of this warrior.

Her head cocked to the side as she seemed to be seeing him for the first time. This was the elf that had ended her Swallow's life; he had pierced her with an arrow, expertly placed between her young brow. Her eyes filled with tears. They had cut her, held her in front of them, mocking and jeering the warriors as they sliced at the corner of her lovely lips, and then cut off her arm, making her scream, her face ripping open down to her jawbone. The shouting, the screaming and hail after hail of arrows could not stop the macabre spectacle she remembered, as a lone tear traced its way down the side of her face, scorching her frigid skin. The orc that held her from behind had lifted her white dress and fondled her, before another orc moved before her and impaled her on a thick branch. Her Swallow had screamed, she remembered, as another tear fell. The scream had confused her, for it had not come from her daughter – no, it was the cry of a wolf or some such wounded animal – yet it _was_, it _was_ her Tui, she had still been alive, after all that had been done to her ten-year-old body, a body she had given birth to, nurtured and loved. She staggered the final meters that separated her from the kneeling elf as she threw herself down before him, bashing blindly at his face, pulling his hair visciously, scratching him, batting at his head – yet not once did he use his outstretched arms to defend himself. As she struck him, her mind saw what it had not processed – her own pitiful screams for it to stop, for someone to make it stop, the face of utter concentration on the warrior as he drew the string back, sighting along the arrow as his lips moved around words she could not hear…

She clutched in desperation at his long hair then, and let out a mighty wailing scream that echoed around the glade, as it finally turned into a plaintive wail and she threw her own arms out to the side, lurching into the now inviting arms of the kneeling lord, who took her fiercely into his tender embrace and held her tight as he rocked her, her family now kneeling and crying openly, their hands over their mouths for fear they may lose control of their emotions. And amongst the warriors, there were no dry eyes to be seen, and once more, Rhawthir and Dorainen were struck by this gentle, barbaric warrior. Barathon, however, simply stood, no tears washed his face, yet his expression gave his emotions away, for there was sadness, but there was also self-loathing, anger, and if one looked closely, yearning.

Later, the pyre was lit and the songs were sung, until the elves left in search of comfort. Small hearths were lit, dotting the ruined land, offering a modicum of heat and comfort on this, frigid winter evening.

Rafno and Glammo sat with The Company, eating quietly, for no one felt the desire to talk. Yet Rafno was a healer, and he had seen the damage that the mother had inflicted upon their commander.

"Where is Hwindo?" he asked, breaking the solemn silence.

"Leave him be, Rafno, he wishes for solitude," said Ram en' Ondo. The truth was that he, like his veteran companions, were done with explanations. It was now up to each elf to draw his own conclusions – they, would allow no more rebukes towards their leader.

"Ram en', I am a healer. He has had his solitude, and now, he needs heeling. If he wishes for solitude still, he will have it. Now tell me, where is our commander?" he asked, his voice one of command.

"If you inopportune him, Rafno – I will not be pleased with you," warned Ram 'en, his brothers watching Rafno, their eyes telling the healer he had spoken for all of them.

"I will not inopportune him, brothers," began Rafno as he held Ram en's imposing gaze. "Hwindo is my leader, yet more than this he is my friend. I have no qualms with today's events – I could not have done it, but that does not make it wrong – " he said pointedly as he glanced at Dorainen, whose eyes rounded a little, before falling to the ground. "I admire him, for his courage, and I love him – for his sacrifice."

There was silence for long moments, before Koron en' broke it. "Then go, with our blessings, brother," he said with the hint of a smile on his otherwise serious countenance.

A while later, Elladan found his battered friend sitting cross-legged on the mossy bank of the stream that ran parallel to the village. He had bathed and partially dressed himself, but had not seemed to have the strength to finish the task, for his jerkin lay in his lax hand, as he stared into the sparkling water.

"Hwindo," he called softly.

"Um? ah, Rafno, come, will you help me?" he asked, pointing to his swollen and bruised cheek, his split lip and scratched forehead.

"Of course," he said as he knelt beside him, depositing his healing kit beside him.

He spoke not, he simply cleansed the wounds and soothed them with the various pastes and liquids he had made up before leaving the fortress.

The warrior was impassive, he simply let Elladan work, not once flinching, even though Rafno knew his healing must have caused more than a little discomfort. Legolas was devoid of emotion again, his mask was up, his defenses working to the limit.

"Did my father ever tell you about the nature of Noldo healing?"

Legolas turned to look at Elladan, emerging somewhat from his place of peace.

"Yes," he murmured, "he once told me that healing is not only about the closing of wounds and the staunching of blood, but also about comforting the soul," he said, remembering well that first day he had arrived in the valley.

"You remember well, Legolas. I am a healer, I was my father's faithful apprentice until I gained my rightful status. I am good, Legolas, for I know when healing is called for, and when it is not – and today, _you,_ my friend, need healing," he whispered as he turned Legolas' face to meet his eyes, searching them for a sign of emotion, anything to show that he had broken through.

Legolas looked at him squarely, before answering him.

"Rafno – I _cannot_. I know your intentions are good, but to acknowledge my deeds, to open my heart and show my soul would render me useless. This army needs me, I cannot falter, this much I know."

"It would render you useless for a short time, my friend. You would be back in the fray before you know it."

"Nay – I would not, for the depth of those emotions is unnerving – I know, for I tried once, and failed, and do you know why? Because it _frightened _me…. It _horrified_ me – I cannot trust myself to react well and see my warriors to safety."

Elladan considered his words, and decided not to press the issue. There would be time enough for healing, not in the Greenwood, but perhaps in Imladris when next he visited. Elladan would see it done, for this sacrifice was the single most heroic deed he had ever witnessed, and if he already respected this warrior king, now, he regarded him as a friend the likes of which he had never had, would never have – the best of friends, and he would not be parted from him, he had meant what he had said just a few months back, although he himself had not realized that he had meant it _literally_. He had told Legolas that he had his 'undying friendship', to which Legolas had laughed, reminding him of the peculiar choice of words, for Elladan was Peredhel, his choice still unproclaimed. He had not believed him, and Elladan himself had said the words without thinking. Soon, he thought, soon he would repeat them – and _mean_ them.


	25. A New Life

Author's notes: This chapter has been edited in compliance with ffnet rating policies. You can read the full version on www dot lotrfanfiction dot com.

And a big thanks to SilverNM, Bime and BlackLion for never failing to review. It means a lot.

Chapter 25: A New Life

Dawn brought the aftermath of battle – the grieving had now migrated to the intimacy of each family's half-ruined houses and flets, what few belongings they had were now strewn over the barren land, broken beyond redemption, a macabre reminder that this – was no longer their home.

Lithaldoren had sought out Legolas and told him of their intention to migrate towards the North-west, close to the borders of the forest and the shores of the Anduin. There were only a few dozen of them left, not enough to continue living here, for they would be incapable of defending themselves, had already been so for some time, and so they had sat together and planned their route towards a new, safer land, where they would start from scratch.

For Legolas, it had been hard to keep up the façade of leadership and discard his own feelings towards this elf – he had been foolish, and it had cost his people their lives, had forced the hand of Sîdhoneth. Yet it was not for him to judge, not now, at least not in his capacity as a leader.

Lithaldoren, however was also fighting to keep up his own strong exterior as the village elder who represented his now, sadly decimated people. Yet the guilt was there, for he had been wrong not to speak up when his people had refused to leave; he should have insisted, yet he had said nothing, and it did not sit well with him at all. He had failed them, and he could only justify this by remembering that they had _all _failed themselves – it was, however, insufficient to his own eyes, and when the time was right, he would relinquish his leadership to one younger, and less set in his ways, ways forged by the press of darkness and anxiety.

Koron en' Naur sat preparing their breakfast, as each went about his own business, until they finally come together around the hearth. Hwindo was the last to arrive, in the presence of the village elder, who nodded curtly at them all, failing to look directly at any, noted Rafno. It was Legolas himself who eased the uncomfortable tension as he began to brief his elves.

"Lithaldoren has acquiesced to move north-west. The trek should take us two days, first due north, and then west. We will scout for the best location and then leave in search of Barabor's position, for they will then be under his protection. From there, we ride home," said Legolas.

His discourse had been precise and monotonous, his face betraying no emotion at all, yet his veteran warriors knew what he would be thinking then. He would be furious with Lithaldoren, for this situation could have been avoided, had they but listened just six months ago. Not to Legolas, but to the trees that had warned them. They also knew that Legolas would not speak of it here. Perhaps once back at the fortress, with a skin of wine in his hands and a friend at his side.

…..

A day later, they had retrieved their horses and now, the females and children rode upon them in muted wonder, the warriors and other males walking alongside. The journey had been uneventful so far and the terrain had changed dramatically. For the villagers, it was the first time in many years that they had ventured so far north, and they now contemplated the healthy wood in open-mouthed wonder, for they had almost forgotten what it looked like – the absence of darkness. It was winter and the trees were bereft of leaves, and yet they were _alive_, fertile – and for the first time in many winters, Lithaldoren smiled as the heavy weight upon his heart began to lift, the darkness, slowly, beginning to lighten.

They set up camp in the early evening light. Dima had deployed warriors to procure meat for the pots, and four more to the watch. Lindo sat stoking the nascent fire, sitting in the company of Barathon and Ram en', with Dima standing a little way off, supervising the movements of the camp.

As Ram en' turned his head, he spotted Tui's mother walking towards them. Her eyes searched their circle, not finding the one she sought, and making to turn, before the warrior stood and held out his hand.

"Sister, will you not join us a moment?" he asked softly.

"I search for your commander, brother."

"He will be back in a moment, if you will but wait with us."

Yet before she could answer, Barathon spoke, his words low yet perfectly audible.

"Have you come to finish him off then?" he asked, not looking at her as he poked the ground with a twig, hence he was startled when he found her face but inches from his own.

"Nay, I would not 'finish him off', _edhel_, why would I do that?"

Regaining his composure, his mouth moved and the words flowed, even before his brain could register what he was saying, or indeed why he was saying it.

"Because he took your daughter's life."

The snap of flesh against flesh resounded around the small glade as she glared into the now round eyes of Barathon.

"He did _not_ take my daughter's life," she began, her tone low and dangerous, "_they _did. He gave her peace, do you not see, you _fool_?" she spat, yet her eyes were pleading as she now searched the faces of those that sat watching the scene play out. "Do you not _see_? The Peace Giver simply takes away the pleasure from the enemy, yet at such a _cost_ – not to my daughter for she was already lost, not to me for I had already lost her, but to _him_ – he who takes the life, he who executes, who precipitates the coming of death," she paused for breath here, the silence absolute as she stared once more into Barathon's wet eyes. "There is no greater sacrifice – no greater love," she finished, watching as Barathon's face met hers, and then he nodded, and when he spoke it was softly, and heart-felt.

"Forgive me," he said simply.

She held his gaze for a few moments longer, before rising to her feet, turning on her heels and rejoining her kin at their hearths.

Silence reigned a while longer, until Lindo broke it.

"You have a wayward tongue, Barathon. _Master_ it!" he said forcefully.

…..

The following day, they arrived at the banks of the Anduin and spirits lifted visibly once more. They had spent some time washing and swimming in its pure waters, the few children left to them splashed and frolicked as their parents looked on, their hearts warmed at the first real laughter they had heard for a long time. They had then continued their trek until they finally reached the area they had chosen to make their new settlement.

The Company lent their hands to helping the villagers and it was not long before they had constructed three, make-shift flets that would serve to shelter them whilst they constructed their new home. Glammo had added a few touches, such as a pulley system for hoisting water into their homes, and had been well-thanked by the women, often encharged with hauling heavy buckets upon their backs. He also engineered a moveable canopy that would cover each platform should the temperature drop or humity rise. The Company had clapped him upon his strong back in admiration and prinde once he had finished, for although the techniques were not unknown to them, Glammo had added his own personal touches that made the systems easy to use, even for the children. It was a lovely enclave, thought Glammo, such a change from that dark, depressing place they had called home for centuries; why they had ever refused to move from the Mirkwood was simply beyond him, but Nanern had explained that you really had to be Avari to understand their deep-rooted connection with nature.

…

Rafno searched the camp from top to bottom for his friend, but try as he might, he was nowhere in sight.

Finally admitting defeat, he turned to Dima for enlightenment, for he, if any, would know where to find their leader.

"Where is Hwindo?" he asked, somewhat exasperated.

"He is over there, up in that redwood," said Dima, nodding in the direction of the sentinel, the shadow of a smile upon his lips.

And indeed, just two minutes away, he found him, hanging inexplicably upside down over a thick branch, his legs supporting him from above. It suddenly occurred to Rafno that he looked like a mythical creature, an exotic vampire – beautiful yet fey, defying gravity almost, and then he resisted the urge to giggle at his own, strange imagination. In the elf's hands was a small knife which he now used to skillfully work the thick bark of the tree. He had completed the braid, the sign of eternity, and was now carving the finishing touches of a delicate bird, poised for flight.

The woman that stood below the tree gazed up at the etchings as they were painstakingly completed, tears pouring from her swollen eyes as she watched the swallow materialize, its wings open, its face alight in joyous anticipation – it seemed to her that this small carving was the greatest of artistic creations, for it was perfect, she thought.

A beautiful face appeared before her then from between the branches, the green eyes kind, the long blonde hair hanging down the trunk, the bruised cheek and forehead set in stubbornness. He had finished and so he scurried down to the forest floor with surprising ease for one of his bulk, she thought, as she watched him approach slowly, cautiously until she met his gaze head on, smiling through her tears as she whispered only for the one before her.

"The swallow has taken flight."

….

It had taken a week to ride back to the fortress. A strange week in which the newest members of The Company rode in silent introspection on the event that had taken place in the Mirkwood and then upon the banks of the Anduin, where they had helped to establish a new village.

Paradoxically, it had been Swallow's mother that had, inadvertently, helped to guide them to understanding the nature of Sîdhoneth, and now, it no longer seemed to be kinslaying to them, but something entirely different, its motivations rooted in the antithesis of that, the worst of all crimes. And yet peace did not come from understanding, and their hearts remained heavy. Even Dima, Ram en' and Pengon were especially silent and introspective, and it seemed to Rafno that Swallow had somehow wormed her little way into these hardened warriors' hearts.

When they finally rode in before the customary crowd that greeted them, their mood had been caught instantly. Any smiles the welcoming Greenwood had sported had now disappeared, for something had happened, something dire, and yet there were no wrapped bodies upon the flanks of their horses, no wounded warriors in the arms of their comrades, only blank faces – and yet their eyes gave them away. As Galdithion searched his lover's face, he saw grief and anxiety. Bandorion was stunned to find shame in the eyes of his son, and a sadness he had only ever seen once, when his mother had left for Aman. And Thranduil… _his_ son was skilled, for he had been taught well, and yet there was something there, in those heart-breakingly beautiful eyes – something that his son failed to mask, but what? What was it that eluded him? wondered the king as he continued to search the face he knew so well.

Suddenly it came to him and his eyes widened slightly, before he controlled his expression. Yes he had seen it, just briefly, a flicker of emotion that was swiftly wiped away. _Guilt_…, yes, that was what it was, guilt and – self denial. Something had happened in the Mirkwood, and the king would not let it pass, not again.

….

After their customary visit to the healing halls, they had all been released and each wandered away, but not before they had squeezed Hwindo's shoulders or touched his hair reverently, only to disappear with their loved ones, and to much needed comfort, yet with one last lingering gaze from Dima, whose eyes had latched on to those of his leader. All was not well, he knew, and so he resolved himself to watching his lord closely for the next few days, for Dimaethor was shrewd, and where others attributed his mood to sadness, _he_ knew better…

Legolas walked slowly back to the fortress amidst the many elves that stopped to bow or smile at him, yet he had not the heart to smile back, and so he picked up his pace until he had reached his own rooms and closed the door firmly behind him.

He visibly jumped however, when Lainion emerged from the bathing chamber, his face as severe and unyielding as usual.

"Bathe, brother. I have procured you with some wine – wash and relax before your father loses his patience."

Legolas did smile then, for this, his Avari brother, was a rock, one that understood him so well – understood his father so well.

"How much time do I have?" he asked as he shook off his heavy cloak.

"I can hold him off for an hour, perhaps."

Turning to his brother, he held his gaze as he approached, placing his palm over the strong, lithe chest of the slightly shorter guard and leaning his forehead against his.

"Thank you, brother," he said, before moving into the bathing chamber.

Lainion watched after him, knowing why he had greeted him that way. He wished for the embrace of his family, to feel protected and loved, and yet he dared not, lest his emotions get the better of him – yes, he knew his brother well.

…

Galdithion watched his lover as the last vestiges of reverie lifted from his face and his eyes slipped open, focusing on him.

"What a beautiful morning," whispered Elladan as he smiled up at his lover's face, placing a hand over his warm cheek.

Galdithion simply smiled down at him, before kissing him, stroking the silky black hair. They had talked for many hours of the events that had taken place on their latest patrol, and Galdithion had listened patiently, his emotions changing from pride to worry, to disbelief and then rage, before finally turning to grief and resignation. How he would keep his hands off Barathon's neck he knew not, although he was, at least glad that Tui's mother had slapped the braggart – publically.

Legolas, however, had slept alone, lost to the world as he slumbered well past breakfast. He felt warm and the bedding smelled clean and crisp, he was safe and no duty chased him this morning.

His mind slowly ambled to the surface as he began to recapitulate the events of just yesterday when they had ridden in from the Anduin. Lainion had sheltered him from his father long enough for him to bath and relax, clear his mind and control his emotions. Yet the confrontation had been inevitable, for their ride in had been a sorry affair, the sadness they all felt had simply been all too visible to be hidden from one as empathic as Thranduil.

And yet once he was seated, had eaten and exchanged a brief report of the events, Legolas' eyes had begun to droop and Thranduil had not had the heart to press him, instead opting to tuck his child into his bed and kiss him upon his scratched forehead, before bidding him rest.

Legolas smiled at the memory as his eyes finally opened to the morning light, and then Swallow's lovely face came to the fore, promptly wiping it away once more.

A knock at his door told him that it was his father behind it, and so he sat up and bid him enter. Lainion was behind him carrying a tray with breakfast, and Legolas could only smile as his brother set it upon the tousled sheets and left, not before catching his brother's eyes and nodding encouragingly at him.

Now alone, Thranduil moved to stoke the dying fire as Legolas pulled the tray towards him and ate heartily, his first meal since their return. Once he had finished, he sipped on his tea as he wondered where to begin with the telling, and indeed how much he should tell his father.

"Well then. Will you tell me now, what has your detachment and your regal self so despondent?" asked Thranduil tentatively, for he knew that this conversation was potentially explosive, for if Legolas chose not to tell him in earnest, he would reject any attempts to pry the knowledge into the open.

"Lithaldoren's village is lost – raised to the ground and half his people brutally slaughtered…"

Thranduil gazed at his son, searching his eyes for the truth, and he found it – at least partially, for there was more.

"And?"

"The forest is much deteriorated, father. The Mirkwood advances from the South-east at an alarming rate. If we are to stop it, we will need at least another detachment in that area, for The Company alone cannot hold it at bay any longer."

"You will oversee it, then. Create another, specialized unit for the purpose."

"Aye, of course," replied Legolas, wondering if that would be enough for his father.

"Legolas…"

He did not answer, simply turned to meet his father's searching gaze.

"There is nothing new in what you have reported, nothing that merits the mood of your elves, and yours."

He sighed as he raked an irritated hand through his loose hair. "There was a – a child…"

Thranduil's head rose then, and then turned slightly to the side as his eyes narrowed.

"We saved her and one other on our last mission there – she, she had worked her way into our hearts – she, she died," he whispered then, looking away and rising from the bed to avoid his father's knowing stare, for if he were to look into the king's eyes then, he would read him like an open book.

Opening his wardrobe door, he selected a set of breeches and a tunic, and quickly dressed himself, yet his father remained, silently waiting for the rest of it – for there _was_ more.

"What would you have me say, father?" he asked somewhat testily then as he sat to pull on his boots.

"The truth, Legolas. _How_ – did she die?"

Legolas stared at his father – who simply would not stop, and yet he had no desire to tell him of what he had done.

Standing, now fully dressed yet with his hair still in disarray, he approached his father, his anger beginning to vie with his control.

"They broke her legs and slit her face open," he began, watching his father closely, willing him almost to make him stop. "They cut off her arm before they brutalized her, impaled her before her screaming, powerless family – "he said, matching his father's intense stare.

Yet Thranduil held it, as he asked the question he knew his son was avoiding.

"She did not die…"

Legolas' nostrils flared and his eyes turned from dangerous to sorrowful, finally breaking their stare and looking down to the floor, before closing his eyes and opening them once more.

"No, thus, she did not die." It was inevitable now, he could have drawn it out, but his father already suspected.

"She died by my own hand, at the behest of her family," he murmured, holding his ground as he confessed to his king.

"Sîdhoneth," said the king.

"Yes," was all Legolas could say.

"You did your duty, my son, one that very few are capable of doing."

"My _duty_!" he suddenly raged then, looking at his father in disbelief. "My _duty_…." He could not continue, and so he swiveled on his heel, picked up his cloak and weapons and stormed from the room, leaving behind a knowing Thranduil and an anxious brother at the door.

…..

Tying his cloak in place, he walked briskly to the archery field where he would spend the next few hours shooting arrow after arrow into the targets, until they were ruined and replaced, only to start once more, and as morning turned to afternoon, Legolas took his place at his friends' table, not before nodding duteously at his lord king, who returned it cautiously, his face a stony mask that effectively hid his growing worry for the well-being of his son.

Elladan and Melven were not oblivious to the strange interaction between father and son, and of course Galdithion had been briefed of the sad events in the South. It was not difficult to discern the cause of it, and so they simply ate in silence.

Balentar however, had noted the irritated and inflamed fingers and the slight shake of the young lord's hand as he ate. He spared a glance at Antien, who was now casting a subtle, sideways glance at Legolas, his eyes slightly narrowed. Nay, the Forest Lord was not well, for his mind was taxed, and to healers such as they, it could not be hidden.

"Legolas, Galdithion and I are riding out this afternoon. Will you accompany us?" asked Elladan, his eyes trained on his own food.

"Nay, thank you Elladan. I have – duties to perform here. I will meet with you later, though."

"Of course," he said lightly, knowing full well that there were no such duties today, for they were on leave.

…..

That night, Minu knocked quietly upon his door, waiting patiently until he opened it, finding him clad in nothing but his loose trousers.

"Can I be of assistance, my Lord?" she asked quietly, her eyes smoldering into his, showing him what she had to offer.

Legolas looked at her as he pondered his options. "Yes, you can be of assistance – come to me," he ordered to which she bowed reverently and followed.


	26. Red Fang

Authors notes: SilverNM, Bime, Blacklion45, thank you for reviewing, and Legacy-of-Old, thank you for favoriting

Chapter 26: Red Fang

Legolas worked in his office at the field barracks, organizing his troupes for the next rotation. He sipped on the chilled juice at his side as he calculated his resources, deploying the Greenwood detachments over the map that was spread over a large, rectangular table in the centre of his operations room.

Things had changed so much in the last few years that the southern regions were hardly recognizable any more, had even been baptized with a new name – the Mirkwood. It was time for change on a military level, for The Company could no longer hold off the advancing darkness and decay. The army needed a larger, specialized unit, and all warriors would need to undergo further training, to adapt to what now seemed more and more likely to Legolas; unless the darkness was plucked from its roots, unless the tower and its occupants were brought down, the decay would spread, and the realm of Thranduil would, inexorably, be pushed back once more.

Yet he also knew that the darkness ran far deeper than that – the tower was but one residence of many others – even were they to pound it to the ground, smash its black stone walls into dust and slaughter those that inhabited it – it would only fester and reproduce. Sooner or later they would be overcome, the Greenwood, the Evergreen Wood, Lothlorien – the entire Middle Earth would be overrun. The only way to be rid of Him was to pluck his malignance from its nest, uproot it, cut the umbilical cord – and _that _was not be found at Dol Guldur, of this he had no doubt.

He had first put forward his project for a joint elven army at the Spring Festival at Imladris, almost a year ago now. The idea had been received with interest, and all had agreed to speak more on it in the future. 'Well', he thought, 'perhaps that future has come'. He knew, deep down, that the Greenwood would not be able to deal with the enemy alone, for all that its army was, by far, the largest of the three major realms. They needed help, and soon; his project could not wait – he would need to implement it sooner than he had thought, for darkness was coming, and it was spiraling dangerously out of his control.

A warrior of The Company had been lost, two villages had been razed to the ground, and he himself had been forced into his role of Sîdhoneth, all in the space of a few months. His mood turned sour once more, as it was wont to do recently; his capacity to recover from his journeys into darkness was worsening, and he found himself struggling to bounce back and get on with the job, as he had always been able to do – until now. He was becoming irritable, moody, angry even – he was changing.

He was snapped brutally from his internal brooding by a commotion outside the door, before a dusty, panting warrior burst into it, a frantic Galdithion behind him who had not been able to stop him before he had stormed his lord's office. Saluting his commander hurriedly, he began his dire report.

"My Lord, a pack of spiders, not three hours' ride from the fortress to the South-west, moving northwards."

"How many?" he asked urgently.

"Four at least, my Lord – my Lord, they are _Red Fangs_," said the warrior pointedly, his forehead deeply furrowing, for this was the most dangerous of the many species that inhabited the forests, yet 'what were they doing so far north?' wondered the young warrior, his panicked mind repeated over and over – 'how had they managed to get so close to the fortress?'

Legolas' eyes bulged momentarily, for Red Fang were as large as they were poisonous, and his own mind followed the same path as the warrior who now stood before him with pleading eyes.

Striding into the main area of the barracks, he shouted his orders as he made his way to the stables.

"Company, to me!" he yelled, "Rafno, procure what medicine for Red Fang is to be had, five minutes and we ride, it is _urgent_!" he shouted. Dima and Rafno nodded, sharing a worried glance at each other before dashing away to comply with their orders, and in the case of Rafno, with his heart in his mouth.

Now mounted, yet still adjusting their equipment, they thundered down the path and through the mighty gates of the fortress. The civilians stopped to watch them, sending a prayer to Yavanna for their safe return, however much they knew not what had happened, and indeed, the wherefore of the urgency, for they had not been due to ride – this was something unforeseen, their sense of insecurity peaking once more. Galdithion stood to one side, watching as they galloped away, and he was suddenly struck by an odd sensation. It was not normal for spiders to breach the outer perimeter, and that did not bode well for his own Home Guards – for surely they must have encountered them – and succumbed, for no runner had been sent ahead from that unit …

Legolas yelled to his captain and lieutenants over the thundering roar of galloping hooves, only now briefing them on their mission.

"At least four Red Fang, three hours' ride from here, to the South-west, rapidly moving northwards. We should encounter them in perhaps just over two hours, supposing they maintain their pace and direction, and that the Home Guard do not find them before we do, or indeed have not done so already ..."

Now, Glammo and Rafno had fought Yellow Bellies many times, knew their weak spots, what they were capable of, and the terror they struck in the heart, and yet although they had heard of the Red Fang, they had never encountered them. They were supposedly much bigger, stronger, and deadly poisonous. Their toxin could even be fatal should the unfortunate receiver be injected with a large enough amount of it; this was the reason that Balentar had volunteered on the exchange program, to find a quick and efficient anti-toxin to Red Fang poisoning. When Elladan had rushed into the halls in search of him and any medication to be had, Balentar's eyes had bulged in horror. The potion was not ready, albeit he had made progress, but he needed more time, more experiments… and yet it may work to an extent, he thought, perhaps enough to save one who was not bitten too severely.

Barathon, like Glammo and Rafno, had never encountered this enemy, and he too, was more than a little apprehensive of what he would come across. As he glanced over at his comrades, he observed their faces as their hair streamed like silken banners behind them, revealing their determined features, their eyes set on the road ahead, their lips firmly shut and their jaws clenched. They seemed angry, outraged even, that this vermin should dare venture so very close to the fortress. It had never happened and the implications were unnerving, for they seemed to have understood that they could _afford_ to do so – that even should they die, others would take their place, until the elves were driven back, their home lost once more.

Turning his own eyes back to the path, he wondered if he himself looked anything like they did, was he anything like they were? Did he provoke the same sensations they did in his people? Was he too, respected? Revered? Was he considered courageous and good? Did bards sing his praises, tell stories of his prowess? Was he _loved_? His mind began to look back on his time in The Company these past six months. So far, things had gone well, he thought. He knew he needed to work on his rapport with the others - they were wary of him, and Legolas simply did not trust him at all – he never had, thought Barathon with a grimace. It seemed that whatever he did was never good enough; just like his father, he thought bitterly as his mind, of a sudden, began to turn poisonous. His resentment sprang to the fore and he no longer thought of the good moments, but only the bad. He had no warrior name, he was 'tolerated', he remembered the slap that Tui's mother had inflicted on him, in front of everyone, and if he were honest, the answer to his questions just a few moments before, was '_no_.' It seemed to him then, that they all looked at him with disdain, sneered at him; looked down upon him as they mocked – 'you are not good enough, you will _never_ be good enough.' He did not deserve this – he _did _not, and suddenly, he was no longer riding out to protect and defend, as their motto read, but to prove himself, and wipe the smug, arrogant sneers from their faces, silence their jeers, show _Him_ that he was worthy …

And as Barathon suffered, immersed in his own world of anguish, Glammo, Rafno, Rhrawthir and Dorainen repeated their tutor's words over and over again, internalizing and bringing to the fore the instruction they had received. '_The only way to overcome Red Fang is team work. Warrior one, warrior two, archer – warrior one, warrior two, archer…_'

…..

After two hours of hard riding, Legolas called a halt and wheeled his horse around to face his warriors.

"We are close. Leave the horses here, we continue on foot. They are stationed in a glade just beyond this tree line. I want Barathon, Pengon, Koron, Nanern and Dorainen in the trees. I want Dima, Rafno, Glammo, Lindo, Ram en', Rhrawthir and Idhreno on the ground, broad swords, not short. Remember, target their jaws and eyes, the body is almost impossible to pierce unless you can stab them between thorax and front legs, this will not kill but incapacitate, archers, aim for the joints, you will not kill but you will weaken them – and distract them enough for us to cut them down – if you can get a clear shot at the eye – you will kill it." This he said for the newer members of The Company, for although they had been trained for this, he knew the impact the beasts would have, they needed reminding, however well they had learned, remembered. Fear erases rational thought, and he would not lose another warrior, another brother.

And with that, they loped through the forest until Hwindo held his hand up, for he could now hear their clicking noises, and the forest was quiet, no insects or birds sang here, and the trees where frozen in panicked anticipation.

Signaling with his hand, the designated archers pulled themselves aloft as the others followed their commander on the ground. Stealth was of the upmost importance now, for they needed to give the archers time to position themselves around the glade, each one strategically placed to provide cover for those battling on the ground. One chink in the plan would mean leaving two warriors exposed, without the much needed cover and distraction from the trees.

Once situated, they hooted to confirm their positions, until finally, Legolas had them all perfectly placed, each one exactly pinpoint in his mind.

Barathon watched the beasts from his branch, their stench sickening him to the stomach, their eyes sending fear into his very soul, for they were a sickly yellow, their black, gelatinous mouths worked constantly, their red pincers clicking incessantly as they communicated with each other. He wanted to hack them down, one after the other, gouge the eyes from their heads, there, on the ground, not here in the trees. He would show his cousin his worth, show him he could be a valuable member of The Company, and prove him wrong, prove them _all _wrong.

Glammo battled with his emotions as he watched the beasts, a sense of irrational dread suddenly invading his body and making him shudder. Closing his eyes to steady his mind, he opened them once more and trained them on those of Lindohtar, who was peering into the glade, his senses on full alert. Melven smiled indulgently then, remembering that once they were back at the fortress, he would speak to his lover, finally tell him that which had only become clear to him but a few scant weeks ago. Lindo turned his head then, catching Glammo's gaze from afar and his eyes softened as his lips curved into a subtle smile, one that warmed his heart and eased the dread that had momentarily overcome him.

With one simple hand signal, the archers sent their first projectiles into the pack of clicking spiders, most of which simply clattered off the hard armored bodies. In the blink of an eye they had reloaded and shot once more; some arrows embedded themselves in the yellow bodies, but none were enough to bring them down, and the shrieking began as the spiders began to scutter towards the eight that would battle them on the ground, sending a jolt of terror into the hearts of the Noldo, for these were not spiders as they knew them, these – were _monsters_.

Elladan was breathing hard. He had never seen such an unnerving thing, for although they were, indeed, spiders, they were _huge_, towering over the tallest of elves by at least twice their height, yet they were broader than they were taller. When he had first heard there were only four of them, he had not been overly concerned except for the question of their fatal poison, and yet seeing them now, how wrong he had been! Bringing down just one of these beasts would be a feat indeed, the likes of which any warrior could boast. Yet there was nothing for it, and so he took long, deep breaths, and centred his mind as he had been taught.

After the third volley, the ground warriors moved in and the battle began with a mighty roar, their steel glinting in the fading afternoon sun. The Company worked in groups of two, for should one fall, the other would cover, and their archer would distract from the trees, it was the only way to battle _this _foe, they knew – _warrior one, warrior two, archer _… they repeated compulsively, arming themselves with courage and resolve, clearing their minds of everything except the task before them, all except Barathon, who waited patiently for his moment of glory to come.

Dima moved in with his sword, only to be swiped away, as Rafno took his place – the red pincer nearly skewering him as he rolled out of the way and an arrow was fired, hitting the spider in the leg and making it shriek in pain, the grating sound almost taking Glammo's hands to his sensitive ears.

Ram en' and Rhrawthir fought together, their foe raising its legs into the air and waving them about, each one moving in different directions – reflexes had to be fast in order to avoid them as they moved in with their blades.

A cheer went up then, as Rafno and Dima brought down their foe, their archer jumping from the trees and charging into the fray. Both warriors, now free, turned to help Glammo and Idhreno, who had taken a slash to the leg, although was still holding his ground, albeit with difficulty.

Hwindo and Lindo continued their sequences, Barathon frantically firing at the particularly large specimen that slashed and swiped as it screamed, stomping its pincers into the ground in an attempt to stab and inject its deadly load, sending clouds of dust and small stones into the air that stung their skin and obscured their vision.

Barathon fired over and over again, but to no avail – he could not bring it down for his arrows bounced uselessly off its thick armor. It was useless; he was not helping, and so, without a second thought, he decided that his time had come, jumping from the cover of the trees and running towards the beast that his cousin battled together with Lindohtar. Pengon's eyes bulged when he realized just what Barathon had done, and the dire consequences for the two warriors on the ground, for he had not the ammunition to cover two positions, and without their distraction the beasts would be free to concentrate on the warriors before them. Barathon had broken the rules of the game, and his brothers' lives were in the balance.

"Barathon!" he screamed from his tree, yet to no avail, for the wayward warrior was already moving in on the massive spider from the opposite direction.

"Nooooooo!" he screamed, for he had read Barathon's intentions and he wanted to cry in frustration as he continued to load and fire, load and fire, powerless to avoid what now seemed inevitable. His world loss focus, his eyes stung and his heart pounded in dreadful anticipation.

It was Dima who heard his comrade's desperate scream and his head whipped over to Pengon's position, finding him alone as he fired desperately. 'Where was Barathon? Where…'

Just as Rafno moved in with a killing blow to the spider before them, Dima caught sight of the missing warrior. Time seemed to stand still and everything blurred around him, everything except the warrior behind the beast that Lindo and the commander were fighting. His skin sent needles of sharp pain through his body and his heart plummeted to the ground as his breath left him.

"Nooo!" he screamed, as he began a mad dash to Barathon's position, dodging the wildly stabbing pincer, still shouting frantically as he sprinted towards him, "Barathon, move, _move!_!" and yet it was too late, for the prince heard him not, or if he did, he would not heed his captain. One of the spider's legs had swiped at Lindo and sent him crashing to the floor, bringing Hwindo to his side to cover, yet before he could move in for the killing blow, the shrill scream of a fatally wounded spider split the air, sending it crashing forwards and onto the two warriors that had confronted it with a mighty crash, and Barathon behind, his sword still poised proudly after the fatal blow.

Dima skidded to a halt, his eyes still on Barathon, before he slowly turned to see for himself the consequences of the prince's stupidity. He vaguely heard the remaining spider shriek as it crashed to the ground in the distance, and then the desperate scream of Ram en', making him flinch as he finally turned towards his commander's position.

"Hwindooo!"

Mere seconds passed as the echo of Ram en's despair resounded through the glade, and yet it seemed an eternity to Glammo, who stood rooted to the spot, not quite understanding what he was seeing as clearly as day, for Lindo lay inert beneath the beast, his eyes half closed.

They all reacted then, all except Barathon who stared on in paralyzed horror at the sight before him. This was supposed to be a moment of glory, and yet two of his detachment lay beneath the beast he had brought down – 'why had they not moved out of the way, for surely they had seen him?'

…..

Hwindo's dazed mind told him that it should, logically, have fallen backwards, yet it had crashed atop him, forcing the air from his lungs. And then, he could not remember having delivered a killing blow at all; he had been about to when it had happened.

He heard Ram en' scream, but he could not move, and felt oddly unconcerned by it.

At first, he did not understand what was wrong with him. He heard a desperate scream, was that Ram en' too? 'Has it bitten me?' he wondered - No, for he would have felt his body slipping into paralysis by now. Lindo, however, had surely been reached, for even now, the clutch of his hand in his own was slackening.

He heard more screaming then – Dima? Not Lindo, he would be paralyzed by now, who then?' He could not say, for he was dazed and he could not breathe. Were his elves safe? Had they vanquished their foes? What was _wrong_ with him? he wondered, as the sound of his own desperate, labored breathing became louder and louder, until it was the only thing he could here and everything else faded into the background – almost.

He squeezed Lindo's hand, and his desperate clasp was weakly returned by the Bard warrior, whose soft words floated into Legolas' subconscious mind, for the commander was not quite aware of what his companion was saying, only that he was speaking, with great effort. All he could do was stroke his thumb over the hand still inside his own, offering what comfort he could to Lindo.

…..

"Ram en', Koron! Secure the site; Pengon, Glammo, to me! yelled Dimaethor desperately as he rushed over to the now dead spider, its jaw locked open, its stinger inside Lindo's shoulder, and beside him Hwindohtar, obviously wounded, yet how he could not say, for only his head and shoulders were visible.

"Oh Valar, no, NOOO!" cried Dima, as he began to shove the black body that hardly moved under his savage assault, however Legolas had cried out at this slight movement and Rafno held out his hands for him to stop as he moved over to the half-covered lord, whose face was ashen, his brow sweaty, his breathing shallow and thready.

"Retrieve my pack, Pengon, quickly," ordered Rafno as he knelt beside the fallen warriors.

Rushing back with the cloth bag, the healer took the vial of Balentar's medicine and handed it to Glammo, who sat in shock beside his lover's head. "It is not an antidote, I know, but it will lessen the effects until we can get him back to Antien and Balentar," he explained, as he found the sedative he would give to Legolas. He knew not the nature of the wound, but there was no doubt it was serious, for the commander was in agony, and Rafno well knew that his threshold was high.

Glammo poured the vial into Lindo's lax mouth with the help of Ram en', while Rafno did likewise with Hwindo.

"Legolas, open your mouth, swallow this," he coaxed.

Rafno's eyes frantically scanned the area for any clue as to what had happened. As soon as the carcass had been touched, Legolas had screamed. His years of training told him that he had either been pierced or crushed. If it were the latter, there was no avoiding the pain that removing the carcass would cause, but if he had been pierced, they could kill him.

He glanced at Dima, who hovered next to him along with the others, his mien one of anguish and absolute disbelief – and for the first time, Rafno was witness to the loss of Dima's considerable self-control. He saw it then, the pool of bright red blood that began to seep out from under the spider.

"He is pierced, Dima, though I know not how."

Legolas' lips moved then, as he tried to tell them what was wrong. After a few failed attempts at producing voice, he gave up, in favour of a gasp as his face once more contorted and his breath was stolen away by another wave of agony.

"Legolas, tell me, how are you hurt?"

There was no answer, as he tried desperately to control the pain, even out his ragged breathing, yet he was failing miserably as white spots danced prettily before his eyes. His ears began to ring, until the ring turned into a full-blown roar, his eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness.

"Legolas!" shouted Elladan, "stay with me, Hwindo, do not sleep!" but it was too late, the commander had lost his battle and now lay as insensate as Lindo, who's brow was being tenderly stroked by a distraught Glammo, willing the anti-toxin to take some sort of effect.

Sighing, Rafno turned to Dima as he explained what he knew had to be done. "We must proceed with caution, my best bet is that a leg is inside him," he explained, "I say we saw it off the beast before we move it – Dima?"

"Alright," whispered the captain, his eyes swam yet he was so glad that Rafno had taken charge of the situation, for he felt utterly lost, for the first time in his considerable experience as a captain.

Rafno simply nodded as he took Legolas' head in his hands, alarmed at how chilled his flesh was, his breath coming in harsh gasps, in spite of the fact that he was unconscious, and he prayed that this was nothing to do with his lungs.

The Company had almost finished securing the sight, their faces grave, nostrils flared, jaws clenched tight - for they had suffered two potentially fatal injuries, one to their king and commander, no less. And Barathon just stood there, on the perimeter. No one looked at him, no one acknowledged his presence in the slightest – for he had disobeyed his orders, and this was the result.

Dima finally sawed through the leg, and, with the help of Pengon and Koron, they lifted the carcass away from the two fallen warriors, blanching at what they saw.

Lindo lay insensate upon the ground beside Hwindo, their hands firmly entwined. The stub of a black leg protruded from the commander's side, just under the ribcage, his entire torso a sea of red.

"Help me?" said the healer quietly, frantically trying to stay the tears that welled up in his anguished eyes, for this was surely a fatal blow.

"Yes," answered Dima automatically, his voice wavering unsteadily as he rose to stand over his commander, taking the leg in both hands, watching Rafno for a sign to withdraw it.

Elladan slid one hand down Legolas' back, and his eyes suddenly bulged, for he could feel how the body was pinned tight. He turned his head to Dima once more, his face a sea of misery.

"Dima, the leg has gone right through and is stuck in the ground. We must only loosen it but NOT remove it from him, do you understand?"

"I – understand, you must guide me, Rafno, tell me when to stop."

Fortunately it did not take long for Elladan to feel how the body separated from the floor, instantly giving Dima the order to stop. But the healer's worry heightened, when blood trickled from the side of Legolas' mouth.

"Dima, we must hurry…" whispered Rafno as he first applied a massive wad of bandaging around the leg that pierced his friend – it seemed ridiculous to cover such damage with a mere roll of bandage, but it was all he had. He then carefully separated Hwindo's hand from that of Lindo, not without considerable difficulty, for they were clasped tightly, their fingers firmly interlaced. Dima simply nodded gravely as he and his warriors took their commander as gently as they could and positioned him before a now mounted Rafnohtar, moving the pliant limbs so that he would not fall during the ride back.

Lindo was hoisted atop Glammo's horse, his lovely head lolling back into the crook of his arm, as he placed a soft kiss to his sweaty brow, a gesture that did not go unnoticed by the other members of The Company, who nodded solemnly at the lieutenant who had earned their love and respect.

The rest of the troupe had saddled up and surrounded the two fallen warriors and the healer, yet Barathon had been excluded from the circle, nobody would look upon him, speak to him, acknowledge him, his horse ambling behind him, dejected and bereft.

Rafno was worried, more than he would admit to the warriors, for the pain should have brought him back to the surface, yet it had not, and so he began to wonder if his friend had slipped into a coma – the blood loss would certainly give credit to his supposition, for it now flowed down his thigh, dripping onto the steed's blanket and down its belly.

Dima approached Barathon and looked at him for the first time since the incident, his face a cool mask of indifference.

"Ride ahead with Pengon. Speak not until you arrive, when you will report to commander Bandorion and give your report – be _precise._ You will then stay away from The Company until further notice – for your own good. Now go."

Nodding curtly, he galloped away behind Pengon, his heart in his mouth as he thought of what to say to his father.

….

They were still a way from the gates, but Pengon's mad yelling had been heard well before. He had screamed from afar at the guards to open the gates, the phrase "warriors down" working its magic, his request immediately obeyed as the gates groaned and cracked open, enough for the two steeds to charge through.

Of course the commotion had alerted the healing halls, as Antien and Balentar ran out, still tying their long aprons around their waists; they had half been expecting this to happen since The Company had galloped out with urgency just a few hours before.

Barathon rode past the halls, further down the path before dismounting and coming face to face with his father, as Pengon jumped down from his frantic steed, turning to face the two healers.

"What is it?" asked Antien, taking in the warrior's appearance. He was filthy and bloodied, cut in many places, his left hand badly chafed, a slight tremble to it – and his eyes, his eyes swam and the light of incomprehension shone from them.

Pengon glanced at Barathon, satisfied to see him talking to his father, who was now striding towards them, apparently having heard enough from his son.

"The commander and Lindohtar are down. Lindo took a full pool of Red Fang, Antien!"

"Oh no," he whispered, looking at Balentar. "If you have made any progress at all in your investigation, _anything,_ my friend, now is the time to try it. And what of commander Legolas?" asked Antien.

Pengon's face turned ashen as the remembered the horrific sight – "A – a spider leg, through the side, he loses much blood…"

Antien was struck speechless for a moment as his mind registered the words. However it was mere seconds before he rushed inside, calling to his healers and assistants, explaining what was to be prepared, as Balentar rushed in behind him and to his desk; he would try the antitoxin he was working on, not the one he had given to Rafno but another, more experimental one, for there was nothing to lose, he thought, as he began to prepare the vials.

Bandorion had followed them both, and now stood patiently behind the master healer until he turned to face him.

"Tell me, Antien, is it that serious?" he asked, dreading the answer he would receive.

"Legolas' life is certainly in danger, Prince Bandorion. You should warn the king, my Lord. Lindo is almost definitely lost to us, unless Balentar's new antitoxin works."

Bandorion was shocked. Legolas had been wounded many times, gravely so, but he had never heard Antien express himself so negatively. His heart began to race as he thought of the implications. His son had disobeyed an order and by his own words, this had led to the unfortunate chain of events that had resulted in the probable loss of two warriors, amongst them, the king's son, king in his own right, Yavanna's beloved protégé.

He called to a nearby warrior and sent him running to the king's offices with the news. The troupe would arrive any minute now, and then chaos would ensue, he knew. There were already many civilians gathering at the gates, family and friends of The Company, all dreading what they would see in but a few minutes, for the healing halls had been alerted and were now on full alert, a flurry of activity within as masters and apprentices alike prepared to receive the injured warriors.. A tense silence had descended over them, and they waited - hands clasped before them, anguish in their eyes and pain in their hearts for the injured, for the evil that simply would not leave them be, for it lashed out in spite at every opportunity, bit into their souls and shook them violently as a wolf does its prey.

Barathon stood, dusty and filthy, his heart hammering in his chest and his mind screaming in agony, incomprehension and suffering; his father stood watching him a way away, tears welling in his eyes, for the wounded, for his son, and for himself.

'Yavanna, what have I _done_?' he begged, 'What have I _done_?'


	27. The Deafening Silence

Chapter 27: The Deafening Silence

A distant rumbling sent a jolt of anxiety and dread through the citizens of the Greenwood, as they stood just inside the open gates. Their warriors were approaching, and hearts accelerated as hands were wrung almost painfully – their minds asking them what they would do, should it be _their_ son, _their _lover, _their_ life-long friend who had been injured, killed even. This ritual had always been a part of their lives, at least for the last thousand years, when it had become commonplace, yet this last year had been the worst ever. Every week one of their companies would ride in with wounded, or news would reach them of a village attacked, its citizens slaughtered, children cruelly tortured before their parents' eyes.

They could feel their home slowly coming under threat – _real _threat, for though warfare was an intrinsic part of their culture, they had always had a sense of security, the certainty that their warriors would be able to protect them – yet now, that security was slowly but surely dwindling, and anxiety was beginning to creep into their souls – _again_, for if Legolas were to succumb, then surely nothing could save them from annihilation.

The rumbling became a roaring, frantic pounding that mirrored Galdithion's heart as he struggled to control his rampaging body, for he had already been told of Legolas' state, and yet he could not, quite, believe it, and the thought of losing him suddenly seemed nothing short of absurd, almost squeezed a hysterical laugh from him, so ridiculous was the notion. And then what of Lindo, The Company's veteran Bard Warrior? – he was a legend to them all, a warrior that had seemingly always been with them, protecting them, serving them and in turn, revered in silent thanks. Beria's death had been a blow to their collective morale, but should Lindohtar pass beyond, it would be a milestone in their history – for something would have to change, should that terrible thought become a reality, they would have to react, in no uncertain terms.

They were upon the gates now, finally thundering inside, headed straight for the healing halls, where the entire staff was now standing, their scrubbed hands crossed over their pristine aprons. With the exception of Glammohtar and Rafnohtar, The Company dismounted with all haste and stepped to the side as their horses were lead away, their flanks steaming and heaving, their breath coming hard.

They stood shrouded for a moment in a cloud of thick dust that obscured all except their silhouettes, and as the cloud dissipated, their faces came to the fore - despair, anxiety, insecurity, utter dread, and it seemed to those that looked on that these warriors of steel would break down and cry as bitterly as any grieving widow, hanging only by some miracle, to the thread that still joined them to hope, however much it had begun to twist and fray.

The healers made their way to the two mounted warriors, as family and friends slowly, cautiously inched forward, unsure of whether they should approach, for no one really believed what their eyes were so cruelly telling them, and so they held out their questing hands to touch the grief-stricken warriors who simply stood and watched in confusion, still smelling of battle, bloodied and filthy, yet oblivious to all except Glammo and Rafno.

It was oddly quiet, a shocked and disbelieving silence had descended over them all, broken only by the sudden whinny of a horse, or the occasional gasp from those that were still converging on the site. The dull thud of wooden boxes thrown to the ground broke the strange moment, and the two healers hoisted themselves aloft to appraise the situation for the first time. Balentar's practiced eye told him all he needed to know of Lindo, and so he gave the order to take him into the first aid area. Antien, meanwhile, placed his hand on Legolas' brow, opened one eye with his other hand, and spared a cursory glance at the horrific black leg that peaked through the wad of bandaging, still jutting from his lower chest and upper back. He stared in fascination for a moment at the blood dripping from the horse's flanks, heard its pattering upon the box he stood on, and was suddenly struck by the probability that he was going to die, that they would lose him this time.

The crowd of onlookers parted hastily with a bow then, as the frantic king skidded to a halt behind the healers, his long robes swirling around his legs at the abrupt maneuver, Lainion just behind him. Thranduil stared on as Elladan eased the inert body of his son down to Antien and Thandion, the warrior's strong arms completely lax, moving awkwardly as he was moved – and yet his mind could simply not register what he knew he was seeing. Yet once it did though, the wail of torment that escaped him left no one indifferent, and all who heard it took their shaking hands to their mouths as their eyes flooded with tears, for it screamed of agony, despair, and the deepest, soul-destroying grief of a father who believed his son lost.

"Legolaaaaaas!"

…

Elrond had sat up, startled out of his wits by the desperate yell that had split the quietness of early morning. Glorfindel sat upright, his chest heaving as he struggled with his racing heart, his eyes wide in panic and disorientation, as if seeing something neither he nor Erestor could.

"What is it, Glorfindel – what did you dream?" asked Elrond carefully, for a nightmare it had surely been.

"Legolas, Leg… Legolas…"

"Easy, Glorfindel – breathe deeply, centre yourself," he soothed as Erestor stroked a hand up and down his arm, his concerned face moving in to kiss his over-developed shoulder.

"He, I – oh Valar, Elrond," he despaired as he raked his shaking hand through his damp hair.

Elrond observed him closely, knowing all to well that this had been no ordinary nightmare, and a feeling of dread settled over him then, for this surely had to do with the strange visions from just recently.

Glorfindel rose abruptly, wrapped himself in a black robe and left the room, gliding down the stairs and leaving the house. Once inside Celebrian's gardens, he sunk to his knees and bowed his head, trying desperately to cling to the dream and its details. However, something was distracting him – something was wrong, yet he could not place it.

It was Elrond who caressed his shoulders from behind then.

"Nature is mute, he said in awe – "for behold - the night is silent," he whispered in dread.

…..

They lay upon the cool stone of the emergency area, both naked and dripping wet as the apprentices dried their bodies, their hair, with soft clothes, and their own tears with the sleeves of their tunics, for it seemed hopeless to them, and that perhaps this last act of love and devotion – cleansing their bodies and making them as comfortable as they could be, would be their last service to these brave warriors – to their prince and king of the forests they inhabited.

Lindo's minor wounds had been washed and disinfected, and now, Balentar sat as he trickled glass after glass of liquid down his unresponsive throat. An apprentice healer stood behind him, supporting his upper body slightly higher than the rest – they would try to purge as much of the toxin from as they could, although most of it would already be in his blood by now, they knew.

Blood continued to trickle from the horrific wound, from which the spider's leg still jutted grotesquely, and now, Antien and his apprentice surgeon were discussing how they should extract the thick, armoured limb. Elladan listened as they debated, his eyes never leaving his friend's face, for all colour was leaving him; the longer they waited, the worse it would be – for he would not survive the procedure with so little blood left in his system.

Through it all, the junior healers and apprentices worked diligently, yet they cried as they did so. Under normal circumstances, Antien would have chastised them severely, yet these were not normal circumstances at all, for it seemed to them that Legolas would die – he had surely been fatally injured, for no one could survive a wound such as this. Antien had, of course, noticed their tears, but he had not the heart to berate them, for he himself felt his own eyes swimming in sadness at what was surely to come, the death of this beautiful child of Yavanna.

It was finally decided that the only option left to them was to extract the leg and repair the damage that had undoubtedly been done to the lung. They could not risk taking any more time to evaluate the damage, for he would bleed to death, of that there could be no doubt.

And thus, what would be hours of grueling surgery began, and not once did Legolas stir, nor Elladan leave his side.

….

The door opened, a bright blast of candle light and a waft of strong-smelling herbs accompanying Antien as he stepped into the shadowed waiting area. The elves within either slept or sat in silent contemplation. It was well past the midnight hour as the healer moved to sit silently beside his liege lord, who turned to look at him as one lost, his guard mirroring his action, and his expression.

"My Lord, he still lives," he whispered, "and we can be thankful for that…" he began.

A lone tear escaped the king's eye as feeling began to seep back into his numb veins .

"However, my Lord, I cannot guarantee that he will live through the ordeal. The blood loss is our immediate concern, and his lung is …. damaged."Antien decided to leave it there for the moment, wait for a reaction before continuing.

Any color Thranduil still had in his cheeks was lost as a sound akin to rushing water pulsed in his ears, as he moved to stand excruciatingly slowly, his guard at his elbow.

"How long before – before we can be sure he, he will still…"

"Three or four days, my Lord."

The father's expression began to break, and Lainion sent a meaningful glare at the others present that was clear to all – 'leave, now.'

With the room now empty, Thranduil gave voice to the painful bubble of emotion that that bulged in the pit of his stomach and that now made its way out through his throat as he sunk to his knees and his mouth set in a rictus of extreme pain, the anguished moan escaping him slowly, as if he himself had been injured.

Lainion's mercurial face changed not, but his eyes swam as he sank down behind his liege, offering his strong chest, onto which his friend now leaned, tilting his head back onto the guard's shoulder as the tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes, his face that of one in utter agony.

They stayed like that for long minutes, minutes in which Antien had retreated into the healing room, only to return with a goblet in his hands, placing it on a small table in the corner, and nodding at Lainion meaningfully, before leaving once more.

Once the king's breathing had evened out, Lainion placed the goblet to his lips, which Thranduil clutched to, guiding it to his quivering mouth and imbibing it quickly. Leaning back once more, Lainion stroked the king's temple, waiting for him to fall into reverie, and blissful peace. Yet before that could happen, Aradan and Galdithion entered the room, their eyes bulging when they saw the king on the floor, leaning back against his guard as one fatally injured.

Lainion understood quickly and put them at ease.

"He lives, although barely. It will be three or four days before they can be sure that he will survive, and by all the Valar I swear he _will_ cleave to life, for there is no other that could survive this," he said, the light of desperate hope in his strange, Avarin eyes, and in that moment, Galdithion believed him.

….

Antien had been sent to rest in the next room down, and it was Thandion and Elladan who now tended to Legolas, who had not once woken since he had lost consciousness, even before surgery had been carried out.

The procedure had been long, and hard, and even so, they knew the chances were that they would have to open him again, for the damage was great and they could not dream of repairing it all in one session, they had simply patched him up as best they could.

Just down the hall, was Lindo, who lay in a poison-induced stupor; Glammo had refused to leave, and thus he remained seated at the head of the bed in which his lover lay insensate, Balentar at his other side and a junior healer, who would feed him with water and Balentar's experimental potion every hour.

Outside, the number of elves waiting at the entrance and around the entire healing halls and their gardens was growing. The Company was there, wringing their hands and cleaving to each other. They had taken no rest or sustenance, still in their filthy clothing, for they could not bring themselves to leave lest their brothers slip away. Minu, Imrah and Huoriel were also there, sitting quietly on one side of the room, each lost to their silent pleas, waiting for the moment in which they would be needed, for courtesans not only provided sexual satisfaction, they were expert masseurs, trained in the arts of rest and relaxation, and were often called on to care for the injured.

"They need care, and food," said Huoriel, observing the warriors with her experienced eyes.

Minu turned to her and smiled kindly. "You are right, my friend, shall we, then, give what we can to lighten their burden?"

Huoriel returned the smile as she rose and left, bound for the kitchens together with her colleague, and just fifteen minutes later, the warriors of the Company were supping lightly on the food and wine that had been reverently offered to them, brought from the only too willing kitchen staff. They sat and watched those brave elves as they swallowed with difficulty, for their hearts were in their throats.

Inside, in the room next to Legolas', Thranduil, Lainion and Galdithion sat in utter silence, their ears tuned to the room next door. Yet the only sound that they could hear was the murmuring of healers and the clinking of jars and bottles. Hours had passed and yet there had been no news, and so they continued to sit in tension, as if willing the door to open and someone to give them news, whatever the nature of it.

It was Elladan who emerged from the room slowly, for he was bone tired and yet he simply had not been able to take any rest. He floated into the neighboring room and came face to face with three anxious elves.

"Peace, my friends, there is no change," he said wearily as he sat clumsily on a wooden chair.

Galdithion approached him with a mug of tea that was still warm, which Elladan took gratefully, sipping on it as he stared into nothing.

"Have you nothing to tell us, Elladan? Nothing at all?" insisted Lainion.

"Only that he still lives, Lainion, and that is a miracle I tell you. Any other would have succumbed already, for the blood loss is dreadful, and the tissue damage will only be regenerated with time," he said softly, watching as the stoic Avar turned and walked towards the window.

Thranduil took his hand to his head, for it pounded fiercely, and thus Antien found them all.

"Lord Elladan, out, go to your brothers beyond those doors, eat and sleep, and only then will I allow you back. My Lord Thranduil, Captains Lainion and Galdithion, I have arranged for your dinner to be served here, which you will eat, before sleeping. Have I made myself clear, my Lords?"

"Elladan, come," said Galdithion softly as he took his lover by the elbow and steered him out of the room, bowing to their king before crossing the threashold and stepping out into the waiting area. They were momentarily taken aback, for the entire Company was there, nibbling on a buffet of cold food that had been provided for them, however no sooner had they seen Rafno, that they crowded around him, avid for news.

"Warriors, give him a moment for he has not left our Lord and brothers' sides for many long hours, let him sit for pity's sake," said Dima forcefully. The effects were immediate as they moved away, somewhat shamefacedly, allowing Rafno to sit before crouching or kneeling around him, as if settling in for a tale, one that Elladan could not refuse for they looked at him with their tired, upset faces, faces still streaked with dust, and the usual smattering of bruises and cuts.

"Hwindo lies gravely injured, brothers. Three or four days must pass before we will know if he is to stay with us, or pass beyond and meet once more with our fallen brothers."

No sound, no gasps, nothing, and so he continued.

"Lindo, is, now in a critical state – if there is no change soon, we may lose him within 48 hours…" he finished, his voice almost a whisper.

And still, no sound, yet Pengon's face was the first to crack as he turned away, the first tears falling to the ground below him. Ram en' placed his large hand on his brother's shoulder as the others looked to the floor, desperately trying to school their emotions.

The silence was broken by the untimely arrival of Barathon, who had not noticed that the entire Company sat there, on the floor, not until he was well into the room, for he was lost in a sea of dread and self-loathing. Ram en', however, had seen him and now, he slowly rose to his full, considerable height, his movements measured and precise, as a puma stalking its prey in the rocky peaks of the Evergreen Wood. Barathon seemed as a young boy in comparison to this warrior, this mighty Wall of Stone. Yet Ram en's face was not grief-stricken, it was set in a fierce grimace that promised a slow, agonizing death. Dima saw the danger just before Koron en', and now, both moved cautiously towards their brother.

"Ram en'," called Dima in a low, warning tone, but the warrior heard it not as he continued his slow walk towards the prince, who in turn, took a step backwards. The entire room was focused on the scene now, and not even Bandorion dared to move lest he precipitate the furious warrior's attack on his son.

Ram en' was now within striking distance of the prince, who himself had raised his hand across his face, cringing at what was surely going to be a stinging blow, yet it never came and in its place came a mad scuffling of heavy boots upon wooden flooring as Dima and Koron en' struggled wildly with Ram en', who showed no emotion on his face now except for fierce determination, and physical effort as he struggled to free his arms and kill the enemy before him, maim him, make him suffer then end his insignificant life.

The two warriors were hard pressed to keep him back, and almost failed as one of Ram en's strong arms escaped their grasp. Balentar entered then, alerted by the noise and shouting.

"What is the meaning of this?" he shouted, yet the firm hand of Elladan across his chest stopped him from moving forward.

"Let them be, Balentar."

It was a spectacle to behold, for all the warriors of The Company were tall, and strong, and to see one lost in uncontrolled rage was simply frightening.

It was then that the rest of The Company surrounded the now frantic warrior as he scuffled and span, pushed and shoved at his own comrades, the madly grappling group a whirlwind of hair and leather. After what seemed like a life-time, they managed to pin him to the wall. However, Ram en' succeeded in turning his body, only to drive his fist into the hard stone wall, the only way he could see to control himself, to distract his mind with pain. He sunk to his knees, his breath coming in heaving gasps as the rest simply stared on, tears now falling freely from their eyes – for Ram en' had _never_ lost control, had always been a rock on which they had all leant on at some point, yet now, now he had broken.

The silence stretched on as those present looked on, all except for Barathon, who was breathing hard, cowering on one knee in the corner behind his father, not daring to move lest he draw attention to himself. He had been wrong to come, yet he had been kept in the dark about what was going on, and he had been beside himself, enough to risk life and limb and come here, albeit Dimaethor had warned him not to approach them.

"Koron en', Nanern, Pengon, find him a room here, make sure his hand is tended to, and do not leave him alone," said Dima monotonously, as he turned to Bandorion and approached him, sparing a glance at the cringing warrior behind him.

"Commander, I request the immediate _removal _of Prince Barathon from this area, for I cannot vouch for his safety, my Lord."

"Of course," he replied, marveling at the control this warrior was showing, for not in vain was he captain of The Company. The commander turned then, seeing his son for the first time since Ram en' had tried to assault him, nay, _kill_ him - for he would have, Bandorion did not doubt this, and judging from the state in which his son was now in, _he_ did not doubt it either.

Taking pity on him, he took him by the elbow, lifted him, and steered him out of the halls of heeling, and away from danger.

Ram en' too, had been taken away and the rest of The Company now sat silently; they would not leave until their brothers were out of danger. Galdithion led Elladan away to fulfill Antien's orders, he would see them done, for now his lover would be needed - and so, he would feed him and rest him, and then bring him back again, that he help to bring his friend back from the precipice.

…

Night turned to day, and silence continued to reign in the halls of healing, and if yesterday the grounds had been full of expectant family members, friends and acquaintances, now, even the trees in the surrounding gardens supported the weight of many more, perched silently upon their branches. The usual flurry of morning activity was absent, there were no warriors training today, no merchants selling their goods, no lords and ladies walking the grounds, flirting or trading, exchanging gossip. Ordinary life had grinded to a halt, for if Lindo died, it would be a hard blow to recover from, yet if it were Legolas to perish, the implications were simply unforeseeable.

Elladan and Galdithion walked through the expectant crowd, who stared on as the two warriors made for the open doors, disappearing through them and into a waiting area that was filled to the brim.

Idhreno was reclining back onto the soft chest of Huoriel, who stroked the sleeping warrior tenderly. Likewise Rhrawthir slept in the arms of Imrah, who had wrapped himself around the exhausted warrior until he had fallen into slumber. Both courtesans now looked up as the healer and guard entered, smiling sadly at them, as they in turn received grateful smiles from both.

Inside the halls, Galdithion went straight to Legolas' door where he would stay until he was allowed to enter. Elladan made a quick detour to check on Ram en', Koron and Nanern who he found huddled together on a small bed, Ram en's hand wrapped in a heavy bandage. Retreating from that room quietly, he went straight to Legolas' room.

He lay there, unmoving on the narrow bed, naked save for the sheet across his middle, the horrific wound barred for all to see, for it could not be bandaged just yet. His hair had been plaited and placed behind him, trailing to the floor. His face was white and the circles around his eyes a deep purple.

"Still no change?" he murmured, knowing Balentar would hear him.

"No, no change, my Lord."

Elladan placed two fingers under his friend's neck, sighing as he felt the still thready beat and how cold he felt. "We will need to get medicines into him more effectively soon, the probability of infection is high…" he mumbled.

"Um…," replied Balentar.

"Balentar!" he whispered fiercely, bringing the healer over to him in an instant.

"What? What is it?"

"His pulse is quickening, he may be awakening…"

"Let it be so," he pleaded as he lifted an eyelid.

And sure enough, Balentar saw the signs that Legolas was struggling to the surface. Unfortunately as those signs increased, so did his breathing, and the unearthly noise that accompanied it.

"Do not let him move around, anchor his legs and arms, you will be surprised at the amount of energy a patient can conjure when injured.

Elladan watched his ailing friend closely, his eyes moving frantically now under the closed lids, his face crumpling up further into a mask of agony, his mouth opening wide as he struggled to get more oxygen into his lungs.

"He cannot breathe well and that causes extreme anxiety. I will try to quieten him while you get the medicines inside him, I have mixed them with poppy…"

By now, the fight had become serious, and Legolas had sent various vials and bottles crashing to the floor, alerting the royal neighbor that something was going on in his son's room, and bringing two more healers running to their side.

Elladan had spilt half of Balentar's concoction, but at least the other half of it did go down their patient's throat. Soon, his struggling became weaker as the poppy took hold of his nervous system, easing the sense of anxiety and slowing the heart beat. The healers slowly released their iron grips on his arms and legs, fussing to realign his limbs and make him as comfortable as possible.

It was then that a half-conscious Legolas coughed, and a trickle of bright red blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Balentar's face cracked as he glanced up meaningfully at Elladan, who returned his stare, knowing full well the import of it.

"Shall I speak to his father, Balentar?"

"Yes, my Lord. Prepare him for any outcome, within 24 hours…"


	28. Bless Your Sylvan Blood

Chapter 28: Bless Your Sylvan Blood

Elladan would not allow himself to feel now, for he had work to do, a family to speak to and prepare, should the worst scenario become a reality, and so he left the room, his friend still lost to them, only to come face to face with a frantic Thranduil, Galdithion and Lainion just behind.

"Come," invited Elladan gently, ushering them back into the king's room and getting straight to the point.

"Legolas has entered a point where his condition is – critical. He came close to the surface just a moment ago, but his breathing was extremely labored, and – there is internal bleeding."

Thranduil could not speak, and so Lainion asked the questions he knew his friend would want to ask.

"What are his chances, healer?"

"Truthfully? They are… they are slim, Lainion, I will not lie to you. You should be prepared for any outcome - within the next 24 hours.

"I will not be left here to spend what may well be the last hours of my son's life upon Arda, Elladan," said Thranduil softly, serenely almost. "I will not be excluded from that room, for if he passes, I wish to hold his hand, stroke his forehead, tell him I…" he could not finish. Elladan would not be the one to tell him he could not enter, and so he simply nodded to Lainion – he would speak to Balentar, make it alright.

Turning away, Galdithion approached him, pulling at his sleeve.

"I will not be excluded either, Elladan. I will make sure the healers are not disturbed, but I will be by his side, as I have been since we were but children – he and I have always…" his lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears, and Elladan's own heart was breaking. He lifted his hand and caressed the face he had come to love so much, offering his own, watery smile before leaning his forehead against that of his lover's.

"With that condition, you three must stay away from the bed, in the corner, only then can I obtain Balentar's approval."

With one final nod at the king, Elladan allowed himself to be steered away by Galdithion.

"'Tis enough for us, Elladan, yet save him you _must_ - do not let him go, for he will take many with him, more than you know."

"I _do_ know, Galdithion, I _do_, for there are those in Imladris - and then what of his _destiny,_ Gal? For if Lady Yavanna speaks true, the very future of Middle Earth could be at stake here – yet more than this he is my sworn friend, and as Kelementari is my witness, I will do all in my power, and hers if she so wishes it – to make him hail once more, however long it takes."

And so, as Legolas lay unmoving in his narrow bed, the vigil began with Antien, Balentar, Elladan and Thandion rotating every two hours. In the corner sat the King, his faithful guard, together with Galdithion, Legolas' life-long friend and protector. And outside – outside the Greenwood had gathered, silent and sorrowful - yet one little boy had scurried through the crowds and made it to the door where the Lord of the Forest lay. They had not let him enter, but they did promise to place the little plant he had brought with him on his bedside table, and so the child looked up hopefully and reverently at the imposing guard, before smiling and handing up the green bush with both hands, before scurrying off with a skip and a jump, a childish giggle echoing through the crowd-filled silence.

…

Elladan had penned a hasty letter to his father, telling him only of the injury that Legolas had sustained and warning him that he may not survive. However, he was quick to add that no one should set out to the Greenwood, for his condition was unstable, promising to send another letter within the first crucial 48 hours. No sooner had he finished it, he sent it by carrier falcon. It would take at least four days to arrive, but at least, if Legolas did pass, it would not be such a surprise.

And then Elladan, for the first time, actually _thought _of the situation in which he found himself immersed. Legolas could die, his friend – the best friend, strangely, that he had ever had. He would probably perish this night, his life ended by the stupidity of one, misguided elf, destined though he was for great things – how frivolous life could be, how curiously absurd, to be chosen by a Vala, only for your life to be snuffed out as easily as any other. It suddenly seemed impossible to Elladan, as he sat there, the only one awake inside the room. Would Yavanna truly leave him to die? After all she had done to show all of Elvendom that this one was her protégé? Surely she had the power to help him, even if that help was in the shape of a nudge, something to help him back…

He sighed deeply, his heart heavy, for Legolas deserved to live in joy, for the service he had already given, for that he would yet give, if only the blood loss had not been so great, his respiratory capacity not so severely impaired – just a nudge, a kiss from Esté, the smallest of caresses from the Valar that claimed to command him, if his sword was anything to go by.

He lay back on the small bed and rested his eyes, yet no sooner had he closed them, an image formed behind his eyelids. A pale, lax hand, beautiful yet strong, and then the brownish green tendrils of swirling tree roots entwining around digits, around the cold flesh they seemed to caress, up the strong forearms …

His eyes flew open then, for the image had been completely unrelated to his thought patterns, it had been an incipient vision, he was sure of it. His eyes strayed to the little plant on the bedside, and his eyebrows furrowed deeply as he leaned forward to peer closely at it, for the plant seemed bigger, its verdant stalks reaching out to the golden head at its side, the leaves a startling bright green, just like Legolas' eyes.

….

Sometime later, a mighty cough had Elladan running back to Legolas' bed, waking up the three slumbering in the corner, and even brought Antien into the room. The warrior coughed painfully once more, only to wheeze in his breath, and then cough again. It was painful just to hear it, thought Elladan as he watched Antien closely.

"Elladan, get behind him, elevate his chest."

"Yes, yes..," he said, as a junior healer rushed in to help him, yet the coughing continued and Galdithion was now holding back the frantic king.

The wheezing stopped, and so did his breathing. Antien's eyes bulged as he threw his fist in the air and brought it down with a mighty thud over the elf's chest, before looking to Elladan in helpless dismay

Agonizing seconds passed before his whole body convulsed and blood spilled from his mouth, yet his breathing resumed immediately in a frenzy of gasps and gulps, the wheezing and rattling, surprisingly, much improved.

"By all the Valar," whispered Antien slowly, watching as Legolas' body calmed and began to relax, the breathing continuing to improve.

Elladan could do nothing but giggle stupidly, for he thought he had been witnessing the agonizing passing of his friend, and yet it had been the opposite, for Elladan thought then, that his chances of survival had just improved greatly.

"For the love of Yavanna, boy, bless your Sylvan blood lad!" shouted the healer, his spittle flying wildly and his eyes alight with fire and hope.

"And bless you, Antien," said the king shakily, "for you have brought him back, haven't you?" he asked hopefully yet somewhat tentatively.

"I hope so, my Lord, I hope so, for now, we have a chance," he said, his eyes settling on the monarch, "we have a chance…"

…

When next Elladan emerged into the waiting area, he found Ram en' now sitting with the rest of The Company, subdued and still accompanied closely.

"What news?" asked Pengon cautiously.

"Hwindo has taken a turn – for the better…"

The shouts of joy heralded the press of overjoyed warriors who embraced him fiercely, squeezing the air from his lungs and yet he welcomed it, for it shook him back to reality, as if only now believing it himself. They tousled his long hair and clapped his shoulders as they congratulated him, praised him, called him friend, healer, brother…Rafno.

It was mere seconds before a mighty roar went up outside, for every single elf had expressed their joy and relief in that one, single yet collective interjection, and it set Elladan's skin to tingling, marking a moment in his life that he would, years later, remember just as vividly as he had lived it.

…..

With Lindohtar still on the brink of death, Thranduil knew he should not be elated, ecstatic, thoroughly overjoyed with life and the Valar for sending his son back from the edge, but there was no helping it, Legolas would live – probably, and he could cry for the joy of it. He wanted to kiss Antien – really _kiss_ him, on the lips, and he wanted to hoist the Peredhel healer into the air and whirl him around until he giggled like a young child, until he kicked and wiggled his legs in the air and threw his head back, just as Legolas used to do.

Lainion watched as his king's face lit up and smiled at some internal musing. He himself let out a long drawn-out breath, as if it had been pent up inside him those last 24 hours of desperate anxiety.

Galdithion, however, sat quietly in the corner of Legolas' room, his face devoid of all emotion. He realized then that he had prepared himself for the worst, that he had convinced himself that his friend would die, and now, he sat in quiet shock at the prospect of continuing by the side of this, extra-ordinary being. He knew then, that whatever happened, Galdithion would swear never to leave him, to serve him always, even unto the Black Gates, and death.

…..

After the initial jubilation, things slowly began to revert to normalcy, in the Greenwood sense at least.

The courtesans had drifted back to Finlond, for now there would be a sudden influx of business. As for the King, he allowed himself a quick visit to his private chambers to refresh himself, eat and then return to the halls of healing, this time leaving Aradan at the fortress.

However, The Company would not leave now, for Lindo was still lost to them, and although their hearts were just a little lighter, they slowly began to realize that time was running out for their brother. The healers had said 24 hours, and that had already passed, and still, there had been no change. Hope was turning to dread once more, and so again, they sat, and they waited.

….

When Thranduil returned to his son's side, leaving Lainion at the door, he found Galdithion and Elladan still there, standing on each side of the bed. They had bathed him, washed his inordinately long hair which now hung wet and loose over the end of the narrow bed.

The king smiled as he watched them from the doorway. 'Such devotion', he thought, such love these two shared for his son, a love he knew would last an eternity, unless Elladan decided to become mortal he realized, the notion somehow seeming absurd.

He drifted in, smiling beautifully down at his now clean son. He looked dreadful, but he was breathing, and the rattling was gone, the blue tinge to his lips had turned to pale white – 'better', he thought.

Elladan turned his face to the king and smiled at him indulgently, speaking as he continued to work.

"You know, my Lord. I had a strange imagining in his darkest hours," he began softly, Galdithion listening attentively as he smoothed the cloth over his friend's shoulder. "I saw a pale hand and tree roots wrapped around it, twisting up the equally pale forearm, possessively, almost, as if he were being claimed. I did not understand it at the time, but now, now I think I know what that meant…"

"It was a vision?" asked Thranduil avidly.

"Perhaps, my Lord. You see, I believe I was realizing, or being shown, that the forests will have a hand in bringing him back to us, that a part of their energy will, or perhaps already has, given him the strength he needed to purge the blood from the lung and trigger his healing. I know it sounds strange, I sound strange to myself with the telling, yet when Thandion brought that plant into the room, something shifted, and later that same evening, it seemed to me that the little bush was leaning closer to our friend…"

"'Tis a beautiful idea, one I am not sure I believe," said Galdithion, "yet tell it to Nanern though, and it will be the birth of a legend – oh, something along the lines of 'the legend of the healing pot plant, or some such absurdity he is wont to create," he finished with a flourish of his free hand.

Elladan giggled then. "Not so hard to believe, Galdithion, for were you yourself not witness to the creation of Lady Celebrian's gardens?" he smiled, watching as his lover's face suddenly colored, for Elladan was right, he had seen a miracle one year ago in Imladris, and now, he doubted that a plant would cleave to his friend, reach out to him. He suddenly felt stupid, and it showed, as Elladan glanced longingly at his lover now, his answering smile promising comfort and pleasure, very soon.

"Now, why don't you two go, and find some rest and comfort, hum? I will stay here with Lainion – do not rush," he said, a saucy smile upon his regal lips.

At any other time, they would have been out of the door like a shot, and yet the situation did not lend itself to tender loving, not yet.

"Come, said Elladan to his lover. Now it is my turn to care for you, Gal, just a short while and then we will return. What say you?"

"Alright," he sighed, loathe to leaving his friend now, but Elladan was right, he was tired, and hungry, and so very relieved he felt truly fatigued.

Thranduil smiled as they left, moving to sit at his son's bedside. He _did_ believe it, he knew the latent magic of the forests, the parts that were still bathed in the light of the Valar, and it occurred to him then, that when Legolas had been proclaimed Lord of the Forests, that he had, in some way, become a part of them, sharing in their life energy – perhaps this is what that little plant did – simply supply the physical link. It was a fascinating idea he would ask Aiwendil about when next they met, but the implications were intriguing.

He turned his head to the door, watching as Antien entered the room with two others.

"My Lord," he acknowledged, walking straight to his patient and examining him. "Have you rested, my Lord King?"

"I have, thank you, Antien. Well? Is there any improvement?"

"Perhaps," he replied cautiously. He was not sure if Thranduil realized how serious Legolas' injury was, how incapacitating it would prove after the initial danger passed.

The King, ever insightful, had watched Antien closely, and his heart sunk for a moment.

"You can tell me, Antien. Do not think to spare me for I will know soon enough – better you enlighten me."

Antien was rather taken aback at how shrewd his king was, and he supposed he was right, yet he had wanted to give his sire a few hours of joy after all the suffering he had gone through.

A deep sigh marked his onslaught as he began his prognosis.

"My Lord, there is still a chance he will not heal, albeit now we have a fighting chance. But let us assume that he heals enough to awake. Our first worry is the fact that the Red Fang destroyed much tissue…

Antien paused here, not wanting to spill the entire truth in one go. And indeed, the king simply stared at him, willing him to continue.

"This means, that his breathing will be sorely impaired, leading to dizziness, anxiety, absent-mindedness; he will not be able to perform any strenuous exercise at all for a long while…"

Again he stopped, watching his king closely.

"How long?"

"Well, that is difficult to say my Lord. Under normal circumstances, perhaps six months, perhaps more. And yet Lord Legolas has surprised us already by getting this far back to us, perhaps he will be back to his normal standards much sooner."

"Six months! That will be very hard on him, Antien," said the king, raking his hand through his long locks. He is a warrior, used to life in the wilds, yes he adapts well to court life, for a while, but this – this will wear him down…"

"Yes, I fear it will, yet there is another way, my Lord, you see it is possible we may be able to perform surgery again, when he has regained some strength – there may be a way to accelerate the lung regeneration."

"But that is wonderful, it gives us hope, surely."

"Aye, and yet if anyone can truly do that, it is not me, my Lord. I know my limits, and that is beyond me at this point, the Master Healer, however…"

"Imladris? Send him to Imladris?"

"Yes, just that, my Lord. I mention this as one possibility, for your consideration, my Lord."

"Aye, aye, thank you, Antien. You have done well, my friend," he said, smiling sincerely at this healer he had never really gotten to know, for it was Maeron who usually saw to the health of the royal family.

"I am so sorry this has happened, my Lord. I, we all love your son, Sire. You are our rock and he is our hope for the future, and then how could we not love one whose spirit shines so very brightly? One who serves us all in humility? He could do anything he wishes, go anywhere, be everything anyone could ever wish, and yet he chooses to ride into the very _Mirkwood_, into the heart of darkness and evil – for us," he finished with a whisper, as Thranduil's fiercely proud eyes looked to the floor before returning to Antien's face once more, embracing the one who had so adeptly summarized the hearts of all that dwelled in this, crucible of cultures, under the sheltering arms of Yavanna's forest.

…..

Melven sat in the same chair he had occupied for the last 36 hours, rising only to relieve himself, stretch his muscles, before sitting once more, stroking his lover's cold hand, staring at his eyelids, and willing him to open them, watching for the slightest movement. Yet there was none; he lay as one already dead, and Melven, for the first time, began to realize that he may lose his friend, his lover, the first person who had ever, really shown him love, that had respected him, that had given back to him his self-esteem. He also realized that he loved this elf, now of all times, for he had never understood the nature of their relationship, and yet now, he was sure of it, had already been at that moment just before they had engaged the spiders, when their eyes had casually met over the battle field. And then he felt the overwhelming necessity to tell him, to watch the light of joyful understanding ignite in his lovely blue eyes, know that he was reciprocated.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his sorry thoughts, turning his head round to meet the worried eyes of Pengon.

"Glammo, you must rest, eat; if you wish to care for him, care for yourself first – please, brother."

"I can't," he whispered, "I cannot bear the thought of him passing without me, Pengon."

"Then let me bring you food and sit with you for a while…"

He simply looked back at Pengon, and nodded, before turning his head back to Lindo and resuming his hopeful vigil.

Sighing deeply, Pengon rose and spoke to Rhrawthir on the other side of the door, before drawing up a chair on the other side of Lindo, facing Glammo, he too beginning to scrutinize his comrade's face.

'How had it come to this?' He wondered. Their lovely Bard Warrior, who had been with The Company for so long, his presence ever felt, his voice lifted in heart-felt cheer, or grief, for whatever of the many situations they had all been through together – Lindo had always been there – and yet here he lay, all but gone from the world, his shell still living, albeit paralyzed beyond repair – how long before his heart and lungs ceased to function?

"Has he not moved at all, Glammo?" he asked softly.

"Nay," he whispered. "Nothing. I keep watching him and nothing has changed, his hands are a little colder though, perhaps another blanket…" he asked himself aloud.

Koron en' entered the room then, placing the heavily laden tray on the table by the wall, before approaching slowly and placing his own, strong hand on Glammo, who once again jumped. Koron glanced at Pengon, their eyes sorry, for their comrade in arms and for their Noldorin warrior who had come to mean much to them. It was strange to have established relationships amongst the members of The Company, not that it was prohibited, and yet they all knew the risks they took, more than any other warrior of the Greenwood, for they patrolled the Mirkwood. There had always been casual dalliances, true, but Koron had seen the love these two shared, and his heart sank at the thought of what was surly coming, yet before he could speak, both Antien and Balentar entered the room, their faces bleak, their eyes set on the body inside the bed.

Glammo looked hopefully at Balentar, yet his heart sank once more at the expression the Noldorin healer wore.

"You have developed a potion for Red Fang poisoning," began Glammo, trying desperately to rein in his nerves. "Why does it not work?"

"Melven, my potion is not finished, and has never been tested, it has done some good for he is still alive after 48 hours, yet we are at a stalemate, my friend…"

"You have missed something then, surely you could…"

"Warrior," interjected Pengon, rising to stand behind Melven who was slowly losing his tenuous clutch on his emotions.

Glammo stopped abruptly and bowed his head, breathing deeply to steady himself as Antien watched on with grief-filled eyes.

The two healers examined Lindo, before sharing a knowing glance at each other and leaving the room, not before beckoning to Koron to follow them.

Outside, Antien placed a hand on the warrior's shoulder before speaking softly

"Koron en', he is near death now, and _nothing _we can do will bring him back. You must prepare your brothers, warrior, for it is, inevitable."


	29. Alas, Sweet Bard

Chapter 29: Alas, Sweet Bard

Koron en' stared dumbly at the healer for a moment, before the words took hold of his conscious mind and a tear came to his eye as he struggled to ask the question.

"How long?" he whispered, not trusting his voice.

"Hours; he may simply slip away, or – his breathing may worsen before it finally stops. In this case, you must soothe Melven there, he must be told that his friend is no longer conscious, that he is not suffering, do you understand me, warrior?" asked the healer kindly.

"I do," said Koron, his voice slightly higher than it normally was.

Nodding and squeezing the strong shoulder once more, the two healers floated away, their heads bowed in heavy sorrow.

Koron turned to head back to the room, but he hesitated. What to say? How to say it? How do you tell someone that your lover will die? Well, it had been entrusted to him, and there was nothing for it, and Koron en' was nothing if not courageous…

As he stood in the doorway, it was Pengon who first saw his brother's face, and he knew. His stomach fell to his feet and his eyes filled with tears as he knelt down beside Glammo, who still sat stroking the cold hand, staring at the face he had loved so well.

Koron approached him then, kneeling on the other side of the bed. "Glammo, I have just spoken to Antien."

"Um…" he said, lost in his silent vigil.

"Yes. He has told me that there are no more medicines to try."

"Then we continue to wait," he murmured.

"No, Glammo. The wait is nearly over, and soon, our brother must move on…"

"I don't understand," he whispered as he continued to watch the inert face that suddenly became blurred.

"Glammo, today, our brother will leave this world, bound for the other, where our fallen comrades dwell…"

Pengon could not control his own tears and although he made no sound, they streamed from his eyes as grief invaded every nerve in his body, for it broke his heart to lose Lindo, but twice was his grief to see Glammo struggle to comprehend it, for his brain had processed the information, and yet his heart was trying to blindfold him, deny what it already knew, defend its body from the unbearable pain of heartbreak.

"Glammo," continued Koron en'. "Do you wish to stay? Until the end?"

There was no answer, and so he bid Pengon stay, while he left to inform The Company, for it was time to say goodbye to another brother.

…..

It was a strange place, where he was now; misty, surreal yet paradoxically real. He felt peace, he felt beauty around him, the ripe, fertile forrest, the verdant glade beneath his naked feet.

It was spring, it seemed, for wild flowers dotted the ground, laden with heavy drops of thick morning dew, making him want to touch and stroke the colorful velvety petals.

He could not decide where, exactly he was, for some features of the terrain were similar to the Greenwood, others to Imladris, and yet other aspects of it where completely foreign to him. One thing was for sure, that if he could have his love by his side, he would stay here, eternally – it would be the closest thing to paradise that he could imagine, except perhaps for the Evergreen Wood.

Climbing to his feet he wandered over to the trees, placing his palm on the rough, rich brown bark and smiling as the sentinel sang a song of praise. There was no darkness in it at all, only joy and – _mischief,_ not the Greenwood then.

It was a strange place, where he was now, for he could feel the grass beneath his feet, yet it seemed to him that he floated. He knew it was morning, for the dew had not been absorbed yet, had not dissipated under the warming, comforting sun.

Where was he? And why did he feel so _good_? It was then that he realized he must be dreaming, but try as he might, he could not remember what had happened before he was here.

Sitting once more under the welcoming branches of the beech tree, he searched his euphoric mind for the answer, for he could not know if he dreamt unless he could remember where he had been before – could he? But then, did it really matter? He felt so _good_ here, there was only one thing missing, for of the two things he wanted in this life, one he already had – this place, now if he could find Glorfindel…

Casting his eyes over the emerald green carpet before him, he now noticed the lovely red flowers that had blossomed suddenly. They were blood red, their petals large and papery, their hearts black. They wavered in the soft morning breeze and it seemed to him then, that they waved at _him_, and so he lifted his own hand and waved back, a feeling of well-being and euphoria washing over him once more…

It was a strange place, where he was, a land where poppies waved…

…

King Thranduil Oropherion walked slowly between the elves that had gathered around the healing halls as they touched his mantle reverently. Yet there were no smiles, only sad faces that had come to pay their respects to one that had given much, one that soon, would leave them.

Once inside, he found the entire Company, save for its commander. They stood together, awaiting their king, for he would be the first to send their brother on his way.

It had been just after lunch when Lindo's breathing had deteriorated, becoming audible, the soft sighs giving the impression that he dreamt.

Once inside the chamber, Thranduil nodded at Antien to one side, and Balentar to the other, and Thandion just behind them. They stood silently, their tunics pristine clean, their hands clasped before them.

Lindo's lovely hair had been brushed until it shone, left to lie lose upon the pillow below him, his right arm adorned once more with the bands of The Company, of a Greenwood Lieutenant, of a master of archery and short sword. The king smiled sadly at this beautiful elf, one he had seen so many times in the company of his son, riding out to do his duty, or laughing and jesting during a ceremony, singing sweetly at a funeral – who now, would sing for him? he wondered.

Approaching the bed and the softly gasping elf, he placed his hand upon the cool brow, lowered his head, and kissed it reverently, his words succinct yet heart-felt.

"Farewell, brave warrior. Well have you served – so go in victory, hero of the Greenwood."

He stood then and placed his hand over his heart, bowing his head, before turning and leaving the chamber, stopping before The Company that now awaited their turn.

"Today you lose a brother to this life, yet know that he will be reunited with those that went before him, for in Mandos' Halls, The Company await him, will guide him until that day when they will all be returned to us, and you will be together once more, across the sea.

The silence was absolute, save for the soft crying of the younger, junior healers and helpers, too inexperienced to have witnessed scenes such as these.

Gliding away with Lainion at his heals, the King made for his son's rooms, leaving Lainion at the doorway once more.

And thus began the sad goodbyes that would mark the end of Lindohtar, the Bard Warrior.

….

_Rhrawthir, Fierce Face_

Ai, Lindohtar, Bard Warrior, may your journey be adventurous, we will meet again, and perhaps then, it will be you who greets me there…

_Rafnohtar, Winged Warrior_

Would that you could stay, for Glammohtar has come to love you – you have changed him, made him a better person, and for that, I thank you, my friend. And then you are _my _friend, too, and I will miss you. Safe journey…

_Nanern, Teller of Tales_

Alas, Lindo, sweet Bard, fierce warrior. So many times have we fought together, laughed, cried and enjoyed life – this I will miss sorely. Yet know this – that I, the spinner of yarns, will tell your tale to all, that they never forget you. Go then, to the open arms of our brothers…

_Idhrenohtar, Wise Warrior_

I will remember. I will remember your eyes, your loving nature, your sensitive heart you shielded so well from the enemy. I will remember your dagger from Beleriand, the earring that Imrahthon gifted you and that had you strutting and swaggering for days. Farewell, my friend, I will remember you.

_Pengon, Arrow Elf_

_Oh, but the times we have shared, my friend. The battles we have fought, the songs we have sung, the reels we have danced… all this, and more, I will miss. Fare thee well Lindohtar, and greet my brothers in the Halls of Waiting._

_Koron en' Naur, Ball of Fire_

_What now, shall we do, without your voice to sing our happiness, our sadness? Who will fill the silent moments with beauty? Who will give voice to our feelings, give thanks and promise remembrance with pure note and heart-felt strength? Perhaps then, in those moments, we should be silent, in remembrance of you, and smile – always._

_Ram en' Ondo, Wall of Stone_

_I have nothing to say, except that I love you well, brother, that now, I will take you with me, and keep you safe, always._

_Dimaethor, Silent Warrior_

_And so I relieve you of your duty, warrior. You have served your king and your people well. You have fought bravely, defied the enemy, rode valiantly into battle and suffered for it. You have laughed and cried, joked and loved and I will remember you, lieutenant. Ride now into peace at last, brother._

_Glammohtar, Screaming Warrior_

_I cannot, I, how does one do this? How can I say goodbye to one so central to my life? How… I do not want to lose you, so soon after finding you. I, I never told you, Lindo, but I do love you, I know it now, yet did you know? Did you? Would that I could be sure. You gave me love, returned to me my confidence, my self-esteem, you changed me beyond recognition, made me a better elf, and now you leave me? 'Tis not fair, love, yet what to do? For the folly of one has taken you…_

Lindo took a halting breath then, and Glammohtar startled as he placed a hand over his lover's heart. He felt the organ thudding and dancing inside his chest until it shuddered to a stop. He sat there, waiting for it to start again, but it did not. Looking desperately at his face he realized no breath passed his lips. He looked frantically at Antien, standing beside him.

"He does not breathe!"

Antien did not answer, but simply stood and waited.

"Lindo?" One last glance at Antien told him that he was not going to do anything, he was just going to stand there as his love died. It was a brief moment of incomprehension, irrational he knew, but he could not quite believe what was happening…

Turning back to the body of Lindo, his eyes finally filled with tears as his head dropped to the now still chest, and there he stayed.

Antien, Balentar, Thandion and the junior healers walked slowly from the room, meeting the faces of The Company. A simple nod from Antien and each warrior turned, some sitting, others covering their mouths, others sinking to their knees as the first keening wail of utter despair and sorrow ripped through their hearts.

A few moments later, laments could be heard from the gardens outside, one voice that was then joined by another, and another, until the Sylvans, Avari and Sindar fell into a beautiful, chilling descount of wailing and singing that would last the rest of the day, and all through the night.

….

His conscious mind suddenly came together from wherever it had been flying, concentrating in one place. Sound came to him first, a strange, clinking noise close by, then came the pain, softly at first, until it began to intensify, becoming almost unbearable, alarming him so that his eyes flew open together with his mouth, the sudden inrush of air bringing someone close to his head. The air felt good as it entered his body, but it hurt so much he felt tears run down the sides of his face. He wanted to gasp again but feared the pain it would bring. He felt a hand on his forehead as his body screamed for the air that would not come…

"Breathe!"

He gulped in another painful lungful of air, but it wasn't enough, wasn't enough, he was suffocating…

"Breathe!"

His heart beat so fast he could feel it's pulse at the back of his throat, he needed air, another breath that rattled strangely – still not enough, not enough! His head felt light and the sound of rushing water came to his ears – he was suffocating…

….

Balentar and Antien sat quietly just outside Legolas' room, Thandion and Elladan were inside with the King, his Avari guard stopping him from approaching the bed, for he would not sit, even though he now knew that his son was not awake.

Thandion wiped the patient's tear-streaked face, his own clearly revealing his feelings, at least to Elladan; either the healer was secretly pining for Legolas, or – they were lovers, something that would not surprise him, for Legolas had more lovers than he had arrows!

It had been Antien who witnessed Legolas' second awakening, and for all his experience as a master healer, it had startled him. It was also true that he had rarely seen such extensive damage in a patient that was still alive, that is, and this was precisely what they spoke of now, for recovery was going to be delicate, and difficult, and decisions needed to be made.

Elladan monitored his friend's pulse, which was rapidly returning to normal after having accelerated out of control for a few seconds. He hadn't been there at the time, but he had seen Antien's pale, shaken face just afterwards.

He pitied the king then, for he had had to sit through what must have been quite an ordeal, restrained physically from reaching his son, and even now, he stood hovering over Lainion's shoulder, trying for but a glimpse of him.

"My King, if we allow you to approach for a moment, do not jostle him in any way, and you must move away as soon as a healer approaches. If you can adhere to those rules, my Lord, I am sure there will be no harm done…" Where Elladan had found the courage to speak to the imposing king in that manner he knew not, but he had said it, and in no uncertain terms.

Thranduil simply nodded, in turn admiring the Noldo's capacity to lead. He was at the bedside in two strides, looking down on his son, his eyes filling with tears as he opened his mouth to speak.

"I have been here many times, at his bedside, and yet this is different, I know. This is not an injury he will recover easily from – he could not _breathe_, Elladan," he said, anguish and pain radiating from his words.

"I think perhaps that Antien and Balentar will brief you anon, my Lord, brief us all, for if we are to help him, we must first understand how it is to be achieved. I know, however, that Legolas is one of the strongest elves I have ever met – he will fight this just as vehemently as he does the orcs and Uruks that infest the Mirkwood, my Lord."

"Aye, I know, Lord Elladan, I know this, and yet I sense great suffering on the horizon – some feeling of dread and doom has descended upon me and I cannot shake it.

…

The Company had stayed together in the gardens surrounding the halls of healing, somewhat away from the many elves that continued to wait for news on their prince's condition. Melven, however, was absent, having wandered away in search of solitude. They had not wanted him to, but he had insisted most vehemently, simply pushing them away almost absent-mindedly, before walking into the woods.

They sat in a circle, in the centre of which sat four, fat skins of wine. They were reminiscing, as was their wont when a brother was lost, for it eased the pain that grief brought with it.

Lindo's funeral would be the following day, for his sister was on her way from their home village to the north-west. She was his only family member left on Arda, their parents having sailed many years ago, leaving the two adult siblings behind, for they had felt no desire to leave.

Elladan made his way to them, flopping down onto the springy lawn beside Ram en', who looked decidedly better than he had the last time Elladan had seen him.

"How is that hand, Ram en'?" he asked, for it was wrapped heavily in bandages.

"I broke two fingers and fractured a knuckle, nothing that won't heal in a couple of days," he added nonchalantly as he swiped at a skin of wine and took a long swig from it, before passing it to Rafno.

"Drink, healer, you deserve it."

Smiling, Elladan took the wine and drank deeply, savoring the surprisingly rich brew.

"What news, brother?" asked Pengon, fully expecting a negative response, yet he was surprised when Elladan began to speak.

"Well, Hwindo awoke briefly, and that in itself is good."

He had their entire attention now, yet Pengon had seen the hestitation.

"But?"

"But, his suffering was considerable, Pengon. This will be no easy journey."

It was strange, for inside the halls, he would not have expressed himself thus, yet here, sitting amid this circle of friends, he was both healer and warrior.

"'Tis not the first time, and it will not be the last," said Dima, as he stared off into nothing, accepting the skin from Koron en'.

"Nay," continued Nanern. "I remember Hwindo and Ram en' going over a cliff together, and before you laugh, Noldo, 'tis the truth," he said seriously.

Elladan had, indeed, thought that his companion was spinning another tale, and yet Koron en' continued what was obviously a true story.

"We were outnumbered, as usual, and both had been cut off from the rest of us, until the orcs lead them to the precipice where they finally tumbled over it, down a rocky cliffside and to the banks of the Anduin below."

"They lay there for hours," continued Idhreno, "until we could get down there to help them. Ram en' had broken both legs, all his ribs on one side and had given himself a concussion that would have him unconscious for a week!"

Elladan sucked in his breath, imagining the pain involved in that.

"Aye, and Hwindo? you may ask," added Pengon finally, "well, he simply sat up and looked at us all, as if we were trespassing. He asked what had taken us so long, to which we actually laughed, until his eyes rolled back and he fell unconscious. He got out of that one with a broken leg, arm, shoulder, three fingers, eh…"

"A toe," continued Dima, "oh, and his nose!"

They all chuckled then, until the worried silence returned, save for the sloshing of wine as Nanern took a long draft.

"Ai, the times we have shared, the things we have seen," said Pengon wistfully. "They say our commander has a destiny before him, that he will be the catalyst of something – transcendental – I wonder then, if peace will finally come to this land…"

"I tell you, Pengon," began Rafno as he swiped at an errant dribble of wine that had escaped his lips. "I was there, on his day of crowning, and you are right. I believe that Legolas is the hope of elves, that his future, his deeds, will bring the peace you so ardently strive for, the peace that Lindo has died for today – that he will, in the end, honor them all, honor their sacrifice – this, I believe."

His brothers sat watching him, their eyes shining, their hearts just a little easier, a small spark of hope in their wise eyes, eyes that had seen so much death and suffering, and that would yet see so much more.

….

He was there, in that wondrous place again, but this time, he was not alone, for Lindohtar sat before him.

He looked beautiful, thought Legolas, as he sat, watching him as he brushed his hand over the verdant grass upon which they both now sat, cross-legged before each other.

"Lindo?"

"Aye, Legolas."

"What – I am, I confess I am…"

"Confused? Yes, as am I, Legolas," he whispered.

"I know not where I wander, yet I know 'tis not the Greenwood, in fact, I think – I think I may not be – _alive_," said Legolas. "Are we both in Este's garden, think you?" he asked.

"Nay, my friend. I think, perhaps," he chuckled, "that I am more lucid than your regal self!" exclaimed Lindo, who sat staring at his lord now, the light of challenge in his lovely eyes.

"I think, Hwindo, that I am close to Mando's mighty gates, yet you – you are closer to the Greenwood, closer to our people, our king, to my own heart."

Legolas peered at this elf that he knew so well, boring past his eyes, into his mind, searching for the meaning of his words, for it was true – Lindo seemed to be far ahead of his own reasoning, for all that he could not fathom the reasons why that would be.

"I, am dying, and you, are recovering. I will move on, and you - you will stay."

"What do you mean?" whispered Legolas, rhetorically, tears now pooling in his eyes, for he really _had_ understood, yet he did not want to recognize the truth of Lindo's words, for to do so would mean to lose him, as he had lost so many others, and it would be his fault – for Barathon had been the cause of it, he remembered now.

"I mean, Hwindo, that this is the end of the road for us – for me for I leave, and for you because you return, and yet to a different fate, perhaps. I remember telling you, yet you could not hear, for you suffered. Yet now I repeat my last words to you on Middle-earth, for time is short, and I am summoned now."

Legolas could do nothing but watch his friend as he spoke the words, and the truth took hold of his heart and his mind. He knew somehow, that he was right, and yet he could not reason it, for his mind was in utter chaos; he knew not where he was, when he was, and yet he _did_ know that Lindo was right.

He dipped his head as he tried desperately, and failed, to stay the tears that now poured from his eyes, and the moment melted with the one he now began to remember, lying there under the spider, their hands clasped tightly, as Lindo pronounced his last words…

"Hwindo. My Lord and Commander; such a pleasure it has been, such honor as no other warrior could have. 'Tis true that philosophy was never my strong point, but I know this – that destiny has in store for you a great feat, one I wish I could see, participate in, yet doubt not that when the deed is done and you are victorious, I will sing your praises from afar, and then wait patiently for your homecoming, together with our brothers… Hwindo?"

Legolas raised his head with difficulty then, for it felt heavy and fuzzy, yet sadness razed his body, for he knew these were the last moments of Lindohtar amongst the still living.

" - tell Glammo that I know, _I know_. And that my answer is… '_you_'," he said finally, as Legolas peered through the watery haze at his friend, his companion of centuries, as his form began to dissipate, losing definition, until he finally faded into nothing and he was left alone.

And then, he hung his head and cried, for Lindo had gone, dead, another sculpture upon the crenellations, another wound in his heart, another sin upon his flawed soul.

"Alas, sweet Bard…, I am so very sorry."


	30. To Each His Own

Chapter 30: To Each His Own

Glorfindel sat in Lady Celebrian's gardens, for there he felt closer to Legolas. His mind wandered far away, remembering that strange, silent night almost four days ago when he had woken to a horrifically realistic nightmare, his gut still twisted in anxiety of an unknown origin, as is so often the case. He had staggered down to this very spot where Elrond had found him soon after, kneeling in desperation. The night had been utterly silent, devoid of all sound, as if nature held its breath. Since then, he had withdrawn in silent introspection, waiting for the moment in which he would learn the truth. He _knew_ something had happened, something important, and he could not shake the feeling that it was something bad, something he did not want to hear.

It was the strangest thing, for he had never had the gift of reading the future, had never had the slightest glimpse of what it held - that was Elrond's realm. And yet recently, he seemed to know things as truth or otherwise without the benefit of reason. The information came to him by an unknown path, and he was disconcerted. Change was coming, life-changing and irrevocable; his second coming was tied to this change, and Legolas was the catalyst – so many certainties yet so little facts to support them.

Elrond and Erestor joined him then, sinking down beside him on the green grass, under the shade of the great sentinel, sharing a knowing glance at each other. They had not startled him, yet he _was _lost in his thoughts, and Elrond was concerned once more, for Glorfindel was not prone to brooding. He would ask him later, but for now, the lord garnered his strength, and spoke.

"A missive has arrived, from the Greenwood."

Glorfindel's head whipped to Elrond as his breath accelerated. Now he would learn of it, the unbearable wait had ended and his stomach plummeted to his boots.

"'Elladan writes that Legolas has been – gravely wounded and - Antien tells me we can expect a turn, one way of the other, within the next four days.

Glorfindel closed his eyes in defeat as all other sounds around him faded, all except the violent thumping of his heart. He had known, and now that it had been confirmed, his body tingled and his hands itched; his mind clicked, audibly almost, as he stood, towering over the sitting Elrond and Erestor, who seemed to be looking upon him for the first time, for their faces betrayed their awe – it was easy to forget who this was when you saw him every day, conversed, ate and slept with him from one day to the next. Now, however, was one of those privileged moments when they were so starkly reminded that Glorfindel was no ordinary elf. Pure power radiated from every pour of his honed body, his face set in dangerous determination, his eyes ablaze with iron intent - for he could not lose Legolas, it was not meant to be. His own destiny was now in the balance, yet more than this it was the destiny of all Elvendom that teetered on the brink of the precipice. Again, Glorfindel knew not _how_ he knew, only that he _did,_ without the slightest shadow of a doubt, and as Elrond and Erestor looked up to the legendary warrior who stood tall and proud before them, they heard his words and knew there was no gainsaying him.

"I leave with the dawn."

…

That evening, when all preparations had been completed and his pack lay beside his door, he ambled towards Elrond's suite, finding the lord there together with Erestor, sitting quietly before the fire, just as he had anticipated.

"All is ready then, Glorfindel?" asked Erestor, observing his friend carefully, for he too shared Elrond's concerns.

"Yes, all ready," he said simply, as he joined them, taking comfort in the warming flames. "What would you have me say, Elrond, for you wish to ask and yet you do not."

"Indeed, yet only because of late, I cannot read your heart. I know not if my questions will be well-received."

The warrior breathed out audibly, as if the tension in his body had suddenly left him. He knew he could not hide it for long, indeed he was now glad for the opportunity to share his worries, and so he poured himself a glass of wine and looked at Elrond squarely in the face, striking the lord once more with just how commanding and wise he was, something that happened to him often as of late.

I will tell you what ails me, Elrond, Erestor, yet ask me not for reassurances, for I cannot give them.

Elrond held the warrior's warning gaze a while longer, before finally nodding and settling back for the tale.

"I will start with a question, then," he began. "Why do you think I was sent back to life, after mere centuries in the Halls?"

The question momentarily startled the lore master, until he finally set his mind to thinking of the answer he would give. And yet it was harder than he had anticipated, as he realized that he simply, honestly, did not know.

"I cannot say, my friend. I know that you swore service to me and my family, I simply assumed that that is what you chose to do, of your own will, for I was Gil-Galad's herald, and you – his faithful general, it seemed natural for us to stay together."

"Yes, that it was," he said softly. "Indeed it is what felt right, and yet I received no instruction from the Valar, Elrond. I was simply sent on my way, and in hindsight, I have always asked myself this very same question, over and over again_… why_? I do not mean to know the hearts and minds of the Valar, but I have met a few of them, and my guess is that their intervention was not without intent…"

"What are you trying to say?" asked Erestor then, "that you have found the answer to your question?" he asked with unbearable anticipation, now teetering on the edge of his armchair.

"Perhaps," he said, watching as Erestor's face screwed up in confusion. "You see, I am simply perplexed, because of late, I seem to – _know _things, things I should not. I believe certain things that are not based on reason and logic – and yet that is simply not me – I have never been prone to fantasizing, or blind, dogmatic belief, and yet now I feel almost as if I am – being _informed_…" he trailed off as he stared at his friends, almost disbelieving of his own words. Erestor's face remained confused, but Elrond's – Elrond's face was alight of a sudden, and it seemed to Glorfindel that he actually _understood_… and then it dawned on him.

"You feel it too, don't you…" he said, no hint of a question in his voice.

"_Oh, yes_, I feel it, Glorfindel. I feel change, I feel the pieces of a puzzle falling into place, and if you feel it, it is because you will play a pivotal role, my friend."

"Yes, and yet Legolas' injury endangers all of this, _he_ is the catalyst, Elrond. And I believe that my purpose in this second life is indeed becoming clear. I was Gil-Galad's general, you his herald. I believe that is our destiny, Elrond, in some shape or form, history is repeating itself, giving us all a second chance. You are called to the strategy table, and I am called to battle, yet I do not even know which one!"

"Glorfindel… if you wish to leave Imladris – follow him, I will understand, if that is what you have to do," said Elrond carefully, watching the warrior closely.

"I simply do not know, Elrond, but I am glad we three have spoken, that we are in this together – it comforts me, yet the very thought of Legolas causes me such deep-seated anguish…"

"Then come," said Erestor as he rose to sit beside Glorfindel. "Let us comfort each other this night – so that tomorrow, you may ride out with strength and determination, hope and faith," he said, as he leaned in and kissed the warrior upon the lips.

Elrond approached from the other side, leaning in for his own kiss, before adding his own words to Glorfindel, on this the dawn of his departure into the Greenwood.

"Bring him into the light, and if you can, bring him to me, to us – to healing and rest, for if we are right and my suspicions correct, he will need it.

…

His mind was occupied with the agony coursing through his body, so much so that he could do nothing more than lie there, and allow himself to be touched and prodded. He knew not who was there, the time of day, or indeed why he was there at all, only that it hurt, more than anything in his entire life.

A warm hand lay on his brow and a soft voice spoke to him - 'breathe', it said, '_breathe'_.

Something was wrong, that was all he knew, it hurt, and something was wrong, he was suffocating yet he was breathing, lying in a bed and not on the battlefield with an orc's claw around his throat, squeezing the very life from him.

He felt dizzy and his heart beat out of rhythm, thumping madly only to stop and then start again. 'Am I dying?' he wondered, for he felt he had run for an entire day, yet he lay in a bed. But then the pain was back with a vengeance and all his thoughts left him, his mind occupied solely on the agony.

"Legolas!"

Thandion looked to Antien in desperation, willing him almost, to ease his lover's suffering, yet all he received in return was an understanding nod, and so Thandion continued to stroke his brow and speak into his ear; "breathe," he urged lovingly, "_breathe_."

…

Thranduil had returned to the fortress and to his personal rooms to refresh himself and check with Aradan. He would not stay long, for his son was still in a most precarious situation. However, now that the immediate danger seemed to be over, his mind had set to punishing itself for having acceded to the wishes of those few council members who had managed to convince the majority with their fallacious arguments and rhetoric - Barathon was owed a position in The Company, they said, and no one had been capable, or had _dared_ to tip the balance, except Legolas, but it had not been enough, for no one had seconded him.

The king would make sure that this never happened again, under any circumstance; perhaps a motion to impede the ruling council from interfering in military matters. He would need to speak to Aradan about it, but for now, with each moment that passed, with each pained gasp from his son, he grew more and more irate, with them - with _himself_. He had felt the need to remain impartial, and Bandorion had not spoken in support of Legolas, rather he had let the river run. He could see their faces now, smug and victorious as the motion had been passed, their arrogance towards Aradan and the other councilors who had been against it. He remembered his brother's face especially, for he had seemed satisfied, but not happy, not ecstatic, and perhaps somewhat confused. 'What would they be thinking now?' he wondered, 'down what paths did their minds take them?'

Emerging from his bathing chamber as he toweled his hair, he found Lainion perched on a chair before the window.

"Better?" asked the guard, smirking at the king's half-dressed state.

"Somewhat, although I confess my ire grows with every passing moment, Lainion. How could I have been so _blind_? How did I ever convince myself that allowing Barathon to ride out against the commander's wishes was a good idea?" he said, his eyes almost pleading with his friend to enlighten him.

"Thranduil, it was not without reason. He is a prince of the realm, and as such it is expected that he give service to our people in the military, in a position of rank, of course - anything else is practically unthinkable, this you know. Barathon's position was embarrassing."

"And because it was embarrassing, that makes the decision _correct_? Nay, 'tis a fallacy, Lainion, and you know it, as well as I do."

"I do not say it was right, I say merely that the decision was taken with some good reasons."

"But not _enough_!" he raged then, slamming the towel onto the floor as he turned to his Avari friend in a whirl or wet hair, the tips splattering against his chest and back, his eyes ablaze in self-torment and wrath.

"Thranduil, peace, my friend..." soothed Lainion, holding out his hand and placing it on the wet chest. "I do not mean to justify the decision, I mean simply to illustrate that there were some arguments for his inclusion, albeit there were many against. I think perhaps that sometimes it is necessary to take a debatable decision - in politics - but you know so much more about that than I do..."

Lainion's soft voice had calmed the king who now turned away from his friend, continuing to dry his hair.

"I am sorry, my friend, and you are right, I suppose, yet I cannot shake my feelings of guilt, and those councilor's will hear me - they will not get off likely with forcing me into a decision I _never_ wanted to make, one they _knew _I did not want to make, and that… Barathon…. he - will – serve - penance, this I _swear_."

"And I will enjoy watching it, my Lord, I will enjoy it very much," replied Lainion in that utterly neutral face that gave away nothing, even though the intonation of his voice had been more than clear.

Thranduil held his gaze for a moment before smiling and turning to his wardrobe and dressing himself. It was time to get back to the Halls.

...

That day, as Thranduil cared for his son together with his friends, others were lost in silent, solitary contemplation, for after the shocking events on the field of battle, those that had taken part, personally or otherwise, had much to think on, for the consequences of those events were now looming on the horizon.

Barathon sat in his rooms, debating as to whether he should risk leaving them or not. He had been sitting there for a while now, thinking on what his next move should be. He knew that it was going to be difficult to get a placement in the military now, and considering a civilian life seemed simply - ridiculous. He was a prince of the realm, it was expected of him to excel in the ways of the warrior - anything else would be unacceptable. Barathon the healer? Nay, he had no desire to study. An artist? He had no ability whatsoever - what then, was he to do? He realized then, that perhaps his only honorable way out, was politics. Perhaps an exchange? But that would take him away from home – from Him. Or perhaps he could take an apprenticeship with his mother's brother, Draugolë, a councilor of the Greenwood. He would talk to his family then - but not Thranduil - he could not face the king just now, best he let things calm down for a while.

And yet as soon as he let his guard down, his mind would berate itself for creating such fantasies to mask his anguish, blindfold him from reality. There would surely be a price to be paid for his performance that day on the battle field; he would not get off likely, he knew. Whether his punishment would be military or civilian he knew not. And yet there he was, thinking of his own future – he many not even have one, he realized then. His anxiety was growing again, and so he quickly masked it once more as he continued to think from a different perspective…

How was Legolas? he wondered, for he had wished him no harm, how could he? Nay, he could not bring himself to discard his cousin's well-being. He longed to visit yet he dared not. He had disobeyed Dima's orders and the consequences nearly cost him a beating from Ram en' Ondo, and should he do so again, there was no telling what would happen.

His anxiety was back with a force, and so he raked his fingers through his loose hair and paced his room once more, and thus would Barathon spend the next few days, lost in a sea of nerves, mixing reality with fantasy, teetering almost, upon the edge of realization, of _understanding,_ and yet he knew not of _what_.

Bandorion, however, was another matter, for there was no confusion in his mind. He sat in his offices at the barracks before his work-laden table, yet after more than an hour, he had still not attended to it.

His dilemma was considerable, and so were his feelings of guilt and self-loathing, for today, today he had lost his credibility - before Legolas, before his king and brother, and most of all, himself.

He had never imagined it would come to this - _never_. It had started so well and he had begun to believe that his son would actually be of some credit, and yet just one slip, one violation of an order and the consequences had been dire. And the worst thing was that anything he said to himself, all of those little justifications that came to his mind since it had happened, were nothing short of vain attempts to ameliorate his blame, and that was, quite simply, impossible.

He remembered the council suggesting that Legolas was being - biased - in his continuous rejection of Barathon, and no one refuting it - not his father, the king, not Aradan, the chief councilor, and not himself, which was far worse in his own eyes, for he was commander - and this should have been a military decision, not political - yet it had been crucial to Barathon and Bandorion that it _were_ political, for there had been no other way to get him in - and this, this was the consequence.

And there was no more to it. Bandorion decided then, that he was not fit to continue as commander of the Greenwood forces. He had failed and Legolas had warned him of his decision to sit back and trust to faith that nothing would happen. Well it had, he had been wrong, and now, he would pay the consequences. Now, the only question was the punishment that the king would surely impose on his son, for the charges were serious, and so then, would be his penance.

…..

Greenwood the Great – was silent. Dusk had descended upon them, and the sky was darkening by the moment, just as the clearing was filling with the entire population, not only of the fortress itself, but the village dwellers from near and far. The gates stood open as wave upon wave of citizens poured through them, quietly, respectfully, sprigs of spruce and cedar clutched in the hands of politicians, lords and ladies, laborers, foresters, woodworkers – children….., for today, there was no difference between them; they all gathered for the same reasons, the same emotions assailed them, the same grief, the same gratitude.

The Greenwood army stood to attention – row after row of armored elves, pristine, immaculate. Their breastplates, helms and vambraces shone brightly in the waning light, their pikes held perfectly straight, jutting rebelliously up to the heavens, each adorned discretely with a strip of parchment that each warrior had respectfully penned – '_protect and defend'_, The Company's motto.

They mourned the loss of Lindohtar, legendary warrior of an equally legendary detachment, fallen victim to a Red Fang. And yet they mourned also for the price they paid to keep their home from falling, mourning – and _anxiety_, because the Mirkwood grew, no longer contained to that contained area due south, but slowly spreading out to the East and West, advancing further north with every passing season. When would it stop? Would it ever stop? These were the questions that assailed the hearts of the Sylvan, Sindar and Avar alike. Insecurity was growing in their hearts, for if The Company could not stop it, nobody could, and then it would only be a question of time before they were overrun, pushed back irremediably – unless something happened to stop it, before that inevitable, incomprehensible loss of kingdom and home.

They sat together upon the crenellations of the great gates, next to the recently carved figure of True Heart Beria, whose stony face shone with the light of youth, and love, even though he had been immortalized in the midst of drawing his bow.

Idhreno stared at the carving as he remembered, and pondered. Lindo would be here soon, perhaps standing with his long sword held aloft, or kneeling as he drew his bow, or even set in a stance, his short swords held in his expert hands. But Lindo, just like Beria, would be but stone, cold, polished and inert…

Glammohtar, however, had not the presence of mind to think of anything except the absence of his lover. He did not register those sitting around him, did not hear their whispered conversations, did not capture their emotions, their sadness, disbelief, their silent wrath at the avoidable death of their life-long companion. He simply sat and stared into nothing, letting the grief wash over him, neutralize everything else. It was easier that way, his body told him, because then he did not have to think – think of how he never told Lindo of his feelings, never gave him that moment of bliss that comes from the one you most love telling you they love you…

When the time came for The Company to send off yet another comrade to the Halls of Mandos, they gathered the Noldo into their sheltering embrace, and together, they walked slowly and solemnly to the glade, where Lindohtar's body awaited the rites of the Greenwood, rites that would be carried out in silence, for the Bard Warrior was lost, his beautiful voice silenced, and no other could find it within themselves to fill that silence.

They had all cried, yet Glammohtar had simply stood and stared into nothing. Not even Lindo's sister had been able to draw him out when she had approached, speaking soft words of comfort to him. After they had danced the salute of The Company, and the pungent smell of pine and spruce had dissipated, the pyre all but consumed, the brave warriors of the Mirkwood turned as one, and left the glade, bound for solitude – together.

And thus another, heartbreaking funeral marked that chill night in winter, a night that was witness to the despair of Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower – for he sat before his camp fire in the presence of two that would not judge, that would not think any worse of him, for they shared his feelings, tears of grief, tears of worry, and fear of what they would find on their arrival in the Greenwood, soon now.

…..….

Melven walked; he knew not where - his feet simply carried him through the forests surrounding the fortress without the conscious intervention of his mind.

He was still there, in that place where no emotions could penetrate, unaware, unseeing, unfeeling, for to think was simply too painful … and so he walked, and walked - and then his boot hit a protruding root and he stumbled. Unable to break his fall, he crashed to the ground, uncaring almost as his body crumpled most unceremoniously until it came to land beside a large beech tree. It was all it took to shake him out of his safe-haven, and now, he sat, wide-eyed, alone, full of hatred and loathing, and utterly – bereft.

His mouth rebelled as it was pulled down by the muscles of his face, by some unconscious order of his mind. Unable to move any further, his eyes closed as his brow furrowed deeply and a mighty wave of uncontrolled anxiety struck him so forcefully that he moaned audibly.

It was then, that his breath left him completely, and he gasped desperately for air, before letting it all out in one, mighty roar of grief, screaming the raw agony of loss until the veins in his neck stood out starkly and his eyes became blood-shot, his muscles so tense his extremities stretched to the side until there was no more breath in his body - and then, he sobbed as the tears streamed from his eyes and he was inconsolable…

They looked on, for they had not wanted to interfere, to interrupt this warrior as he mourned the loss of his lover, for they knew who he was, and they knew what assailed him, for they too, had been there, to kiss the forehead of Lindohtar.

Taurvantien studied him then, just for a moment. The Noldo believed himself alone, either that or he simply did not care, for grief had taken him now, and he was not owner of his body. He was strong, on top form, scared on arms and chest, even his face, any uncovered patch of skin was testament to his service to this, for him a foreign land.

He wore the uniform of The Company, his arm sporting two arm bands, one showing his prowess in short swords – fierce indeed, courageous beyond what duty required. Exotic, he was, for his hair was dark – not black, for there was some red in it, and his eyes were silver, sparkling brightly with tears that would not cease. How sad, how utterly lost he seemed to Taurvantien in that moment, bent over himself as he was, his frame wracked with spasms of all-encompassing pain, arms wrapped around his strong chest, trying and failing to still the heaving.

Cuilwen approached cautiously, for she knew not how amenable he would be to the touch of one that would give comfort. Kneeling before him, she slowly lifted her arm, until the palm of her hand caressed his wet cheek.

"Sîdh, ohtar – sîdh."

He did not care who spoke, he only heard the rich, mellow words, allowed them to deceive his mind. He needed – needed so much, and so he listened.

"Glammohtar," she whispered, as she bent forwards and placed a chaste kiss to his tense brow.

He closed his tired eyes, allowing the love of a stranger to wash over him, ameliorate just a little of the agony that wracked his frame, sitting up for the first time in a long while and feeling a strong chest at his back. Falling into the offered comfort, a soft whisper caressed his ear.

"Lean on me, on us. Let us soothe you, warrior. Lay your tired body back, for we will hold you, unto whatever end," said Taurvantien as he smoothed his palm down the silky mahogany locks as a female's fingers ghosted over his cheek, down his neck and then the exposed part of his toned chest.

He hardly noticed when he was hoisted afoot and led up into a Sylvan flet and laid upon a bed of fresh linen and soft pillows, his clothing removed and his frigid body covered in cotton and skin, skin that caressed and comforted, until his eyes fell shut and he finally slept.


	31. The Message

Chapter 31: The Message

Antien sat beside the bed as he worked. He was cleansing the horrific wound, working the soft, impregnated material in and around the convoluted ripples of raw flesh, trying and failing to ignore the sounds of distress he was causing.

Elladan kept his hand over the sweaty forehead, conveying what comfort he could through the gift he had inherited from his father, his own eyes were brimming with tears as he watched those of his friend stream down the sides of his face, just as Thandion watched the son of Elrond closely.

'How strange', he mused, 'to be the best of friends with your father's lover'.

Legolas had awoken various times during the next three days, although always to the same routine. Pain, and his body's inability to respond to stimulus.

Thranduil raked his hand through his now loose hair; it was past the evening meal and he was settling down to rest beside his son's bed. Those closest to the commander had established their own duty roster, so that one of them would be there at all times, in spite of the constant comings and goings of the healers.

It had been almost a week now. Lindo had survived for the first two days and perished on the third. His funeral had been the following day, and now, almost three days later, and still, Legolas lay helpless upon the narrow bed, hair tied back, naked under the sheet, the pincer wound bared for all brave enough to look.

Rolling up his sleeves, Thranduil reached for a cloth and dipped it into the fragrant water that Minu had brought with her from Finlond. She had explained to the king that she had prepared it especially for Legolas, and that it contained herbs and oils that would induce well-being. The king had smiled sadly, before nodding and turning back into the room, and now, as he spread the water over his son's face and neck, he had to agree that it was - pleasant indeed. He would ask her to prepare his own bath from time to time...

He moved now to his son's shoulder, lovingly sliding the cloth over the smooth skin, noting the fading scars he found along the way. They were not immediately obvious, but if you looked closely, they _were_ there, and would remain there for anything up to fifty years. The only exception was the more recent scar of his snapped collar bone. Further down to his strong forearm, he noted the over-developed muscles there, so characteristic of a master archer, and then the sturdy wrist and the large, calloused hands - his nails, he was glad to note, were perfect. Thranduil himself was very particular about hands and nails, never failing to seek a manicure and pedicure every week at the talented hands of Huoriel.

He returned to the strong chest, wetting the cloth once more and breathing in the soothing scent of the water. It was then, that he noticed a flicker of his son's eye, before his head moved back and his mouth opened, drawing in heavy breaths and becoming agitated. However, it was not the full-blown panic he was now accustomed to and so he watched closely.

Indeed Legolas seemed to be controlling his breathing a little better, it was still labored, but he remained relatively still. A few moments later and he calmed visibly, breathing frequently with the technique that Antien had 'taught' him every time he had woken up. Thranduil had never been sure his son was actually listening to what they said, but apparently, he had.

And then his green eyes opened slowly as his tongue came out to lick his dry lips.

"Here," said Thranduil, his heart thumping madly as he held a glass to the lax lips, his other hand under the heavy head.

Legolas sipped at the water. It felt good, very good. He decided that he wanted to drink it all, greedily, and he would have done, if he had been able to move, that is, yet the slightest movement paralyzed his body in agony.

Taking the water away, Thranduil stared into his son's eyes hopefully.

"Can you hear me?" asked the king, watching, waiting for a sign, any sign that his son was cognizant.

"Yes," came the almost inaudible whisper.

Thranduil's eyes brimmed with tears as he smiled brilliantly. "You are back."

"My Lord!" exclaimed Balentar as he rushed over to the other side of the bed.

"Legolas, you are doing very well, you are controlling your breathing - do not sleep, though, not yet, alright?" It was not a rhetorical question, for he wanted an answer, it would bring the elf further to the surface, make him more aware of his surroundings.

"Yes," came the soft whisper once more, and Thranduil smiled once more.

The healer quickly found what he was looking for, flinging the powders into the water hastily, lest he lose the opportunity to medicate his patient. "Give him this, my Lord," instructed Balentar, seeing that his king needed to do this. Meanwhile, he ran out in search of Antien.

When he found him, he simply smiled before leading the way, his gesture perfectly interpreted.

"Legolas, does it hurt to speak?" was Antien's first, anxious question.

"Whisper..."

"You can whisper then, not talk?"

"Yes," he replied. He was sure that if he tried to produce voice that he would lose what little oxygen he was managing to breathe in.

"Alright. Now tell me, are you dizzy?"

"Yes"

"Do you know where you are?"

"Halls..."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Antien..."

"Good, very good, Legolas. Remember your breathing, and stay with us a little longer."

"Try.."

And he was, for it was agony, yet his mind told him to stay, for he could not remember for the life of him what had happened, his mind was foggy and sluggish and he was incapable of asking just yet, but he would stay awake, for as long as he could manage, and so he lay there, eyes open as his father continued to bathe him in the fragrant water.

"Minu mixed this for you. She was adamant that it would help you, and look - it has brought you back..." said the king joyfully as he worked.

"Good..." he said, for it was, it smelled wonderful, masking the overbearing smell of herbs and antiseptics that did nothing but remind him of the sorry state he was in.

"Legolas, do you think you can eat anything?" said Antien as he peered into the green eyes once more.

"No..." he whispered. "Water?"

"Water with some honey then, alright?"

"Yes"

Antien glanced at Balentar, they both understood the effort it was taking to answer, to think even, but this was good news, this was very good news, and so smiling at one another, Balentar left in search of honey, a contented smile on his face.

...

"Pengon! Pengon!"

The Arrow Elf turned from his wooden opponent to face Koron en' Naur, who was jogging towards him. His heart sank for a moment, until his companion placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled beautifully.

"He is coming back to us, Pengon, he is coming back!"

Together, The Company went in search of Ram en' Ondo, who could not be found anywhere.

It was Nanern who finally spotted him, sitting under a willow. His legs were stretched out before him, hands in his lap and head resting against the comforting bark, eyes closed.

"Brother?" asked the Tale Teller, concern beginning to ignite in his eyes.

When the warrior opened his clear grey eyes, there were storm clouds inside them, a swirling, seething yet chaotic dance of anger, grief, sorrow and concern, so strong that Nanern almost stepped backwards.

"Heed me, Ram en'. Our Lord returns, the danger has passed. We sought you out to go at once, if they will grant us entry that is."

The warrior's face lightened somewhat at the news, drawing his knees up at last, for he had been sitting there for hours.

"That is good," he said softly. "Would that Lindo, too, would come back to us, Nané, would that I could see him again..."

"You will!" he replied forcefully. "You will, my friend, we all will, heed me. Now where is my Wall of Stone, Ram en'?"

He smiled then, for it was a phrase that Lindo had used often.

"He is here, Nané, right here," he said softly as he rose and stretched his cramped muscles, before clapping his heavy hand on his companion's bare shoulder. "Come, for we have a commander to mortify!"

….…

Two days passed in a blur of pain and hazy images of his father, Elladan, Antien, Balentar, and many others, yet he remembered almost nothing of what had transpired, only the faces.

Today, however, he felt closer to the surface, a little more aware of his surroundings, and rational thought began to return, and with it, self-loathing – and guilt.

He had first remembered Lithaldoren's village, little Tui as her arms raised in a silent plea to be picked up, and then he remembered her torment and how he had shot her through the head, her grief-stricken mother slapping and clawing at him. He remembered Beria and his suffering as the blonde uruk had tortured his commander, suffering that lead to his barbaric execution, his guts spewing onto the forest floor. And then, he remembered Barathon's uncle, Draugolë, his smug smile of victory when the decree was passed to include his cousin in The Company.

And then, the rest of it crashed over him as he remembered Lindo laying at his side under the beast, his hand firmly clasped with that of the Bard Warrior, his final words before paralysis took his voice away, and then took everything away just days later.

They would have cremated him already, and he had not been there to pay his respects, to mourn him, to tell Glammo of the message he bore, one last favor Lindo had asked of him.

"Elladan," he whispered with difficulty as Antien covered him with the sheet once more.

"What is it, Legolas?" he asked, moving his head closer to his friend's lips.

"Speak – to Glammo," he stuttered out, his eyes however, boring meaningfully into Elladan's.

"You wish to speak with him? Well, if I can find him, I will bring him, my friend," he said carefully, for he had no wish to disclose Lindo's death right now, there would be time enough for grieving later on. However, Legolas surprised him with his next words.

"He – mourns, for Lindo…"

Elladan stared at him, watching as he fought to control his breathing, the speaking becoming too much for him.

"How, how did you know?" he asked hesitantly, sharing a puzzled glance with Antien, whose eyebrow rose in surprise.

"Spoke to me…"

"Lindo? _Spoke_ to you?"

"Um.." he mumbled, his eyes closing as he began to fade away again.

Elladan was tempted to continue with his barrage of questions, but Antien gestured for him to remain silent, to which Elladan simply nodded, chastising himself a little.

"'Tis surely the pain, he is not himself, Elladan."

"Perhaps," murmured Elladan, but he was nowhere near convinced. Something had happened, for Legolas had been lucid, he had seen his eyes and he saw pain, exhaustion, yet he also saw the light of reason behind them.

…...

Later that day, Melven returned to the barracks, slipping inside quietly, unnoticed until he arrived at his room, only to find Elladan there, waiting for him.

He had not expected that, hoping, he now realized against hope, that he could remain alone, no need to talk – and remember.

Elladan, however, seemed to understand him perfectly, for he did not ask him where he had been, or how he was. Instead, he said something that Melven was not expecting at all.

"Legolas wishes to see you, he says he has a message for you. What it may be has me, and Antien, mystified, and yet he is adamant he see you."

Melven held Elladan's gaze for a moment, before dropping his heart-breakingly sad eyes to the floor once more.

"Will you come?"

"I – I do not wish to speak, I do not want to see their pity, hear their frivolous words of condolence, I do not want their embraces and their empty words of a better future, telling me that time will heal all. _It does not heal the present!_ – "

Yes, Elladan understood, for he had endured that himself when his broken mother had sailed. They meant well, but anxiety makes for clumsiness, and meaning well is not enough for he who grieves.

"I understand, and I would wager our brothers do too. I will help you if I can, yet I tell you that Legolas was most – anxious to speak with you."

A mighty sigh marked the moment that Melven understood he had to comply. It was not mete to refuse a request from a king, and then he _was_ curious.

"He says he has a _message_, yet what if it is simply the irrational ramblings of a drugged elf?" said Melven, somewhat bitterly.

"They may well be, Melven, and you must indeed choose, between defending your emotional integrity and assuaging his anxiety."

He flung himself down on the bed unceremoniously, his irritation plain to see. "Elladan, let us go, get it over with and then you, and everyone else, can leave me be, for I wish for solitude.

A short while later, Melven and Elladan walked cautiously into Legolas' room, Elladan glancing at Antien in an unspoken request for permission.

"Be brief, Elladan," was all he said, and even then, he did not leave.

"Legolas," called Elladan quietly. "Melven is here."

He took a shallow, ragged breath, and then cracked open his startling green eyes, fixing them on the unbearably sorrowful visage of Melven.

"I have – a message, for you," he whispered with difficulty, for it seemed to Melven he had run a league.

"What is your message, Legolas," prompted Elladan.

"Lindo…"

"Lindo is _dead_ – and the dead to not speak to the living, Legolas!" hissed Melven, his irritation getting the better of him.

"Lieutenant, you will show respect for my lord or you will _leave_," whispered Antien harshly, his face but inches away from the grieving Noldo warrior.

Melven looked to the floor then, desperately trying to control his temper. "Forgive me," he said sincerely, to which Antien nodded in understanding, yet his face remained stern.

"Melven. Just listen, then you can leave if you so wish, and draw your own conclusions, alright?" said Elladan, watching his friend carefully, for he was suffering, for his loss, and then for himself for not controlling his grief.

"Yes, you are right. Forgive me?"

"Come – come close," whispered Legolas.

Melven bent low over the bed, his ear close to Legolas' mouth, for he could only whisper, and even then it came out as a weak sigh. Only Elladan was close enough to hear and so he waited patiently as his friend gathered enough breath to speak.

"We – we spoke before, before he – died. He said – '_I know'_,"

Melven stood where he was, his eyes trained on the wall over Legolas as his brain slowly began to understand what Lindo had known. He had known that Melven loved him –

"He – said," he gasped, controlling his breathing enough to start again, "said 'my answer – is – _you,_'" he gasped again, loud enough this time to draw Antien's attention, who glided over to the bed and placed a soothing hand over the lord's brow.

"That is enough, you must leave," he said curtly. Elladan nodded apologetically, sparing one last fond glance down at his friend who was now paying the price of having overtaxed himself.

Turning to leave, he realized that Melven had not moved, rather he had frozen to the spot, his eyes still fixed on the wall but which were now swimming with tears, until the first one fell, and then the second, and then – they would not be stopped. Elladan heaved a sigh of deep sorrow for his friend. He had needed to hear the words that Legolas had enunciated with such difficulty, and they obviously meant something to him, for his reaction was evident.

It was the young healer Thandion that approached Melven from behind, and placed a caring hand on his shoulder, an invitation to turn around, wrench his eyes from the wall. And he did, and then clung desperately to his white apron as he lay his head on Thandion's shoulder and allowed the inviting, comforting arms to encircle him.

Later that evening, The Company sat in brotherly silence in the royal gardens, enjoying a few bottles of vintage that the king had gladly graced them with, asking only that they drink one for Legolas.

Glammo had joined them a little later, accepting their silent invitation for him to sit in their midst. He felt better for he was now back in the real world, that disconcerting sensation of detachment had left him, leaving a deep-rooted sadness that would last for many years to come, until a day would come, in which he could look back on his relationship with Lindo with a contented smile upon his lips…


	32. Wrath of an Elven Lord

Chapter 32: Wrath of an Elven Lord

His recuperation was proving to be long and hard, much harder than it had ever been. He just wanted to get out there and do what he did best, what paradoxically made forgetting easier to do. But he could not, for his body was weak and his mind was slowly settling into that place he had never allowed it to rest.

He had lain in the healing halls for two weeks, after which they had taken him to his own rooms, for Legolas was aware of the fact that his presence was a distraction to some, and an obstacle to all, as friends, relatives and companions visited incessantly, inadvertently hindering their day to day work.

And now, after an entire month, he still woke to pain; and if he had slept awkwardly, it would be minutes of agony before it would subside into a dull but constant ache that would not leave him, wearing down his defenses, slowly but surely disarming him of his weapons, his ploys and tactics that kept the grief at bay and allowed him to function.

His endurance had been severely impaired and he was limited to walking in the royal family's private gardens, and even then, he would have to sit frequently, for his chest would pound and his lungs would burn, he would sweat and then the world would tilt violently.

And then his mind would rest in that place again, and he would see the faces of Lindo, Beria, and then Imrathon and those than had gone before; they would smile at him, images flashing by mercilessly of when they had been in their prime, at their pinnacle, before battle had broken and ruined their bodies, and scarred the minds of those that loved them.

He took a long, shuddering breath as he sunk to his knees on the open balcony of his rooms. He had to extricate his mind from the road it seemed so intent on taking – he had to stop it, before it was too late and he crumpled.

Tilting his head back, he let the mountain breeze lift his heavy locks as he closed his eyes and tried once more to centre himself, as he had always done, as he thought he would always be able to do – yet his physical injuries were making his mind weak, and he felt his resolve slipping from his now tenuous grasp, from his desperately clawing fingers.

He saw Lindo again, this time as a young warrior, joining The Company for the first time, his face proud, alight with unbridled enthusiasm, so innocent, so sincere. He saw him again in the midst of battle, his lovely face transformed, the mask down, the innocence gone. He saw Lindo hand him a cup of mint tea with both hands, smiling brightly at his commander, eyes shining in respect and devotion. A clap on the shoulder from Ram en', Koron en', Dima … a gesture of love from loyal companions - and then he saw his pale face, eyes staring into nothing, in a poison-induced stupor, suddenly absent to the world, never to return, not before he had uttered his last words upon Arda. So sudden, so unexpected, his life had simply been truncated and then terminated - all those memories, all those moments of friendship and camaraderie, all those smiles, laughs, songs and dances, all the tears, all the wisdom and kindness … were lost.

Barathon's face came to him then, and the shrewd, ambitious faces of Draugolë and the advisors and councilors who had forced him to take his cousin into The Company; he had warned them, and they had not listened, and rage began to bubble inside him.

And then he saw Swallow, remembered her smooth young brow before his arrow had pierced it, slicing into her brain and ending her life too, only hers had only just begun, her eyes such a bright blue, sparkling with a passion for life yet unlived, only to be snuffed out in but a moment of horror, as if she had never even existed at all.

This time, as he drew his breath in, it was labored and broken, he was losing control and he had to stop – _now_ - for it was drowning him, he had to stand up, dress, go to the training grounds, do something, stop his mind from taking him _there,_ where it was wont to go, dragging him cruelly down the path of suffering and torture, wrath, pure ire – he could not allow it, must not permit it…

He stood, angry now – angry for the first time in many years, _furious _at what the fight had made him, what he had _allowed_ himself to become – useless, a token of victory to the darkness he had been fighting for so long, a battle he felt himself on the brink of losing. He dressed and collected his weapons, his face no longer the cool mask of control and serenity, but a seething, bubbling cauldron of negative energy. His jaw was clenched painfully, his eyes narrowed into glittering slits, his nostrils flared, his gait long, fast - he was wrath unleashed, terrifying, unstoppable.

He was at the training field, and could only remember how he had left his rooms, the rest but a blur of angry thoughts and recriminations, at himself, the Valar, the Greenwood, Lindo, Swallow…

He lifted Yaavan with a strength he did not have, feeling his side twinge painfully with the effort and his breath hitch– it felt good, because it distracted him, he needed to stop thinking, and pain was an efficient way of achieving his goal.

He attacked his wooden opponent, slicing through the linen tunic and the hay underneath. Stepping back, he whirled on his heel and came around again, only to slice through the other side.

And then he was lost, for now he could not stop, was not even conscious of what he did any longer. His body attacked, slashed - hacked with a fierceness he could not afford himself. Lindo was laughing, singing, weeping, Swallow was playing merrily in a woodland clearing, her mother and father watching her proudly. Others came to him, too, for he remembered their faces, they had been at the back of his mind for many years, but today, they came forward, an army of men, women and children that had died at his own hand, and he hacked and slashed and decapitated until his opponent lay smashed into a carpet of shattered, ragged chunks of wood and tufts of hay, for he had broken it into a thousand pieces, like his mind, which now lay in a ruin of anxiety, grief and wretchedness.

He stared blindly at it, his chest heaving so that his breath came in desperate gulps, his lung still unable to function correctly, his eyes burning hot, his throat tight and constricted. He fell to his knees then, unable to keep himself afoot as the sky began to spiral out of control and he fell to the side as one dead, eyes still open, unblinking.

A gentle hand on his heaving back, and then another, yet he did not look, could not, and he cared not, for he was lost then – would have stayed as he was now, rest at last, never to wake, just like them – Lindo and Swallow.

Elladan glanced at Galdithion, whose eyes were a river of grief, brimming with emotion for his friend, his lord, for he knew, had _known_ that he could not have continued forever without _feeling_.

Elladan bowed his head and whispered gently into Legolas' ear.

"Hwindo."

Nothing, no answer, no gesture or expression; he simply lay where he had fallen, a blind stare upon his face; the harshness of his breathing had subsided a little, and so Elladan sat, taking Legolas' upper body with some difficulty, and pulling him into his own arms, observing the lax hands, which were full of splinters and scratches from the wood he had triturated just moments before.

Galdithion had retrieved Yaavan, swinging it high over his back and into his quiver. He was reminded then, of just how heavy the weapon was; even under normal circumstances it required considerable strength to wield it – how Legolas had managed it in his state was simply beyond his ken. He would care for it later, but for now, he sank down beside Elladan, who was stroking his friend's hair, whispering words of care that simply seemed to float away, for Legolas responded to nothing, nothing at all.

…

Elladan and Galdithion sat with their friend in the royal gardens. Legolas had not spoken since they had found him upon the field. After he had gained enough strength to stand once more, they had quietly led him away to the nearest safe haven – away from prying eyes and wagging tongues.

He sat now, on a bench, with Elladan beside him, and Galdithion before him on the grass. They did not speak, but simply accompanied him, waiting for him to make the first move, although already knowing that he would not, and so Elladan continued to bathe the bloodied, unfeeling hands, pulling at the odd splinter, his actions garnering no sounds of distress, no pain.

However, he surprised them then, as he stood slowly, cautiously, not trusting his body, for it ached and twinged and his legs trembled ever so slightly. He moved clumsily over to the small pond he had loved so much as a small boy, for orange carp swam languidly in between the undulating weeds beneath the surface. He sat himself down carefully, tucking his legs beneath him, and drew a long breath, yet he no longer tried to centre himself, for he could no longer do it, could not even _find _it; he was lost in his pent up feelings and emotions, his mind was forcing him to feel, and he could no longer avoid it, and so he sat, and stared blindly into the pool, moving not a finger, as afternoon fell to evening, and evening to night.

Elladan stayed where he was on the bench; he didn't approach, he just kept watch lest Legolas need him. Galdithion however, had gone inside, in search of his king, for this was no momentary lapse of control.

Galdithion knocked on the king's door, which was opened by Lainion, who stared at him for a moment before bidding him enter.

Thranduil was sitting before the hearth, staring into the flames – a glass of wine in his hands another on the table next to him.

The king's head turned to Galdithion then, his eyes full of unhidden anguish, and _dread._

"He has broken?" he asked then, a question in form, yet not so, for the answer he already knew, and yet he needed to hear Galdithion say it.

"Yes, he has broken," whispered the guard, wondering for all the life of him, how Thranduil had known.

Lainion approached him then, looking at him carefully, noting the puffy eyes, the pain he tried and failed to hide.

"Come," said the guard kindly, leading Galdithion to another chair beside them at the fire.

"Tell me?" asked the king, handing the guard a glass of wine.

"We, Elladan and I, we found him on the furthest instruction area. He was fighting the training figure, he - _smashed it to pieces,_ which such wrath I was terrified, my Lord. After he had depleted his energy, he sunk to the ground, and since then, he has not spoken, has not reacted to anything, he simply sits and stares."

"Where is he now?" asked Lainion.

"In the gardens, by the pool, Elladan stands watch over him. My Lord, forgive me my impertinence, but I think perhaps that Legolas would not want you to see him now."

"That is the attitude that has driven him to this, Captain. I appreciate your loyalty, but I must now force his hand, he must rid himself of this grief he has concealed for so long, and if I must pull rank to do so, then by the Valar I _will,_" he whispered fiercely.

Galdithion could only nod humbly, for the king's reasoning was sound, and he could not refute his words.

…...

The king sat himself down on the soft, mossy ground beside his son; not too close, yet close enough to observe him, the lost expression on his face, the tormented eyes, there was an air of disorientation about him, for he had the stare of a blind man.

"Legolas."

Nothing

"My Son."

Nothing.

"Prince Legolas."

His eyes flickered to the side then, as he replied in a weak whisper. "Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil had no idea what to say, all he knew is that he needed a reaction from his son, anything so that he could communicate with him, decide what to do, for he needed attention. However the start of their 'conversation' did not bode well, and so the king decided to attack, as fiercely as he could.

"Do you see them?"

Nothing.

"The ones that died, do you see them? Imrathon, Lindohtar, or the ones that you gave peace to?"

Legolas' eyes flickered briefly, enough for Thranduil to see it – he would continue down that road then.

"You thought I did not know – my Son – you tried to _protect_ me. I know what you do, I know the sacrifice you take upon yourself and let no other do. Do you remember them all? Their faces? Their names? Do they haunt you? Do they name you _kinslayer_?"

Legolas whipped his head around to face his father, and the king gasped involuntarily, shuffling backwards instinctively. He had been utterly taken aback by the wrathful stranger that stared back at him with eyes full of hatred, a seething cauldron of barely checked ire that threatened to escape the tenuous control he held over himself. He spoke not, however, _could _not, lest he lash out at his own father, and for the first time, Thranduil was afraid of his own son - he had become - unhinged, unpredictable, and his eyes widened at the realization – he could push him no further, for there was no telling what the consequences would be.

It was Elladan who, after a few moments, approached his friend once more.

"Come, Legolas," was all he said, taking for granted that he would allow himself to be steered away, and indeed he did, his face set once more in a mask of incomprehension, Elladan on one side and Galdithion on the other, for they too, had understood the danger, and now, they would not leave his side.

…...

That evening, an urgent meeting was called by the king himself, to include his brother, Bandorion, his nephew, Barathon, his chief advisor Aradan, the master healer Antien, Captains Dimaethor and Galdithion, and Lord Elladan of Imladris.

Legolas had been left in his rooms together with Thandion and Balentar, his door guarded by two of Galdithion's best men, for even injured and lost as he was, Legolas' skill as a warrior far surpassed any in the entire realm.

"I have summoned you here for various reasons which will now be made clear to you. Most of you already know something of what has transpired, and some I know do not," he glanced at Dimaethor and Barathon.

"Legolas has suffered a – breakdown – and is now under medical confinement, for he is not himself."

Dima gasped audibly then, and yet he was not surprised, except for the fact that it had taken so long to happen. He still remembered that dark episode in his own existence, when he too, had broken. It took him two years of rest before deciding to take up his weapons once more, a long time ago…

"Captain Dima?" asked the king, not irritably but out of curiosity, for the reaction had been so unlike this inexpressive warrior.

"If I may, my Lord – I was just remembering my own experience, for if my assumption is correct, his breakdown is due to his fight with darkness, preempted by his debilitating wounds I would assume…"

"You are correct, Captain, please continue."

"For what it is worth, my Lord, we of The Company have all had our – difficulties, yet Commander Legolas has never shown a chink in his armor, we thought him immune, I fear."

"How can we help him, in your experience, Captain?"

"He must open his heart, without the burden of burdening – if you follow me? He needs someone to draw out the poison that has accumulated, unleash his wrath, his ire, his utter grief, and then he must be left to his own devices, once he has reached stability once more. It took two years of my life, my Lord."

"Healer Antien?" continued Thranduil.

"His wounds have undoubtedly precipitated this. After a month of recuperation, his body still does not function properly, and it will not for at least another six months, perhaps more. The lingering pain and debility have slackened the iron grasp Lord Legolas had on his emotions, and now, all that we can do is accompany him and wait, for he needs to sort this out on his own, he needs to initiate his own healing, which will only be possible if we, his friends for the most part, create the circumstances in which that will be possible. We should, however, assume that he will not be fit for active duty for at least a year."

"Commander Bandorion, you will need to make plans for this, find yourself a deputy, Gondien, perhaps? You will need to rearrange the detachments, and I would have you include Captain Dimaethor as your advisor on matters concerning the southern reaches."

"Yes, my Lord."

Thranduil stood staring for a moment, gathering himself before turning to Barathon, who stood stock still, staring at the ground.

"And what of you, Prince Barathon?" asked Thranduil, controlling himself as he watched the boy closely.

"I have nothing further to say, my King, other than that this is all my fault, for I disobeyed an order and I am responsible for the death of Lindohtar and the dire wounds suffered by Lord Legolas. However, my intentions were good, for I wished to fight, and my Lord would not give me that honor. I…"

He got no further, for Dimaethor was before him in three long strides. His arm stretched behind him, before whirling through the air to meet the soft skin of Barathon's cheek in a resounding snap that echoed in the ensuing, shocked silence.

The Captain's face was aflame with wrath as he forced himself to grind out the words that came to him unbidden.

"Your intentions were good? And of what use are good intentions, Prince? What purpose do they serve save to exalt he who claims to have them? They are worth _nothing_," he spat. "You are jealous, have always coveted what he has – what he _is;_ the best of warriors, beautiful beyond compare, of steadfast heart and quick mind, courageous as no other, generous and well-loved – all those things you _never_ were, never _will_ be and I pity you. '_My intentions_… _I wanted…_' you say, and that is the story of your life, is it not? _I – me – my_…" Dima took a shuddering breath then, before he calmed himself somewhat, finishing his barrage as serenely as he could manage. "These are my final words to you, Prince Barathon, for I, Dimaethor, the Silent Warrior, will, from today, be silent forever in your presence."

Galdithion breathed in audibly before breathing back out. He had somehow lived those words as if they had been his own, and he felt strangely calmer, for Dimaethor had expressed his feelings perfectly, and by the look on the faces of the others present, they had all felt represented, indeed none had moved to help the prince, or to stay the captain's hand.

"Well then," said the King. "Your penance will be decided once Legolas is with us once more, and yet I rather feel you are already serving it…You are confined to the fortress and the surrounding gardens until further notice. Now, I must tend to my son. Aradan, I need you to oversee things for me – just for a while."

"Peace, my King, I know what to do, as does Prince Bandorion and Captain Dimaethor – we all do. Take your time, my Lord, that we may all, in some small measure, play our part and bring him back to us."

…..…

Barathon had made himself as scarce as possible, for word had spread of what had happened during the Red Fang attack and his life had slowly, but surely, become a living hell. He was ignored, while others would deliberately turn their back to him, even his family members, those that had worked so hard to get him the placement he had so wanted, would look away, embarrassed almost, and perhaps, just a little ashamed of what they had done, yet more than this, he was no longer a sure investment for them, no longer their ticket to renown and prestige. Indeed the king had been right, he was already serving penance for his sins. And yet what the future held for him he no longer knew, only that his penance would be harsh, for he could see the hunger for revenge in the eyes of his people – the king's hand would surely be forced to the worst possible punishment, for it would be the only way to assuage them.

His heart plummeted to his stomach once more, and anxiety took hold of him, its roots slowly but surely spreading, tentacles that encircled and then squeezed his guts and set his heart to thumping erratically. Penance indeed; how long would he be left waiting, until judgment was passed? How many days of suffering would be inflicted upon him, before he would finally know his fate?

…..…

He had not slept for two days since that first breakdown on the training field, for every time he closed his eyes they came back to him, and he saw Lindo sing his song in Haven, Swallow would spread her wings and fly away, Beria would look to the stars as his life force gushed from him; he saw his own hand as it held out a lock of chestnut hair to one who only now was beginning to realize she was a widow, a childless mother …

He sat on the balcony in the early morning breeze, a blanket wrapped around him that did nothing to keep away the cold chill. A friendly hand placed a steaming cup before him which he reached for, as one hypnotized. Inhaling the sweet-smelling tea, he sipped as his eyes stared off into the horizon of the Evergreen Wood and the snow-capped mountains beyond.

Thranduil was within, talking quietly with Antien, Aradan and Galdithion, while Elladan sat off to one side, pondering on what he should do – he was a healer, and yet he had not the slightest idea of what he should do, for his friend had been a walking spirit for the last two days, and nothing in him suggested that that would change any time soon. He hardly ate at all, did not speak, would do nothing if not urged to do so, when he would simply comply without resistance.

As he continued to think, his ears vaguely tuned in on the conversation taking place on the other side of the room.

"Antien, there must be something more we can do! How long can he endure in this state? If only he would eat to regain his strength but we have not even got that on our side, we need a…," the king trailed off as all eyes turned to the gates.

"What is that?" said Galdithion urgently, for they had all heard a shout go up at the gates.

"Not more injured, Elbereth, _no more_," whispered Antien as he moved to the balcony together with Galdithion and the King.

"Open the gates! Open the gates!" shouted a guard atop the crenellations.

As they watched from afar, three riders galloped through, halting their horses abruptly before dismounting in one fluid movement. It was then that Elladan caught a glimpse of the golden metal below the full-length cape that covered the figure from head to ankles – but it had been enough for him to slowly inch his way forward and grab the railings before him in all-encompassing astonishment.

"Sweet Kementári…" he whispered, loud enough for Thranduil to turn towards him, a silent question upon his confused face.

Elladan turned to meet his gaze, the ghost of a smile on his shocked face.

"We needed a miracle, my Lord, and behold, he is come."

Thranduil's brow furrowed in puzzlement as he waited for Elladan to elaborate.

Outside, all activity had stopped to watch the three cloaked figures as they began to stride purposefully towards the fortress behind their guide. Messengers, they thought, Noldorin messengers if their boots were anything to go by…only the gate keepers and the guard who led the way were privy to just who had just arrived in the Greenwood.

It was but a few scant minutes later that the guards at the door stood to attention and the panels were opened to reveal the three riders.

All of them turned to face the newcomers, all except Legolas who continued to sit impassively on the balcony.

Thranduil unconsciously ducked his head in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the face beneath the hood, his curiosity taking control of his kingly comportment, before his irritation finally got the better of him.

"Reveal yourself!" he said forcefully.

The foremost figure reached up and threw back the hood covering his blonde locks, his golden vambraces clearly visible now as was the splendid breast plate of his armor, a golden flower emblazoned in its centre, shining magnificently upon the metal forged so many years ago, in Gondolin, for there, standing before them, was Glorfindel, his strong, well-defined features spoke of power of an unparalleled intensity, he was simply – beautiful.

Waving all protocol aside, he looked to the one he remembered meeting once, many years ago, for his son was so much like him.

"Am I too late? Does he _live_?" he asked pleadingly.

"He lives, yet his mind is awash in turmoil, would that you could help us to bring him back…_Glorfindel_…" finished Thranduil as he gestured with his arm to the solitary figure sitting on the balcony, his back towards them.

Following the king's gesture, Glorfindel's anxious blue eyes settled on an elf who sat, wrapped in blankets and furs, unmoving, impervious to everything, everyone; he simple sat there, either unaware or uncaring of his presence. He walked slowly towards him until he was a hand's width away. His body reached out, yearning to touch him, but he had not been briefed as to the nature of what had happened, and rather though he would startle him, for so lost he seemed.

"Legolas?" he whispered.

Nothing.

"My love?" he tried again as he sat shoulder to shoulder with him, this time managing to turn his head. The Forest Lord looked at him then, for the first time, a flicker of recognition lighting his face for a moment before it was lost beneath the mask of confusion. However, the ailing lord allowed his weary head to rest on Glorfindel's shoulder. It was a small victory for them all, yet only the tip of the whirlwind that was yet to come.

As the two lovers sat there, the other two riders flung their cloaks off, revealing Henian and Llyniel. There were gasps of joy as Aradan moved to embrace his daughter, and Galdithion moved to Henian, sharing a desperate hug. The king, Elladan and Antien watched them all, thinking that maybe, just maybe, with his childhood friends here, and his Gondolin lord at his side, that Legolas had a chance, that perhaps they could, after all, bring him back from the gaping chasm of insanity.


	33. Into the Evergreen Wood

Chapter 33: Into the Evergreen Wood

They had all vacated the room to give the two their privacy, but the doors remained guarded. Henian and Llyniel were being briefed by Galdithion and Elladan as they shared a glass of wine that Galion had offered them all.

Similarly, Thranduil, Lainion and Aradan stood further down the corridor. There was an air of expectation about the place that could have been carved with a knife, and word had already spread that the _Golden Sacrifice_ had arrived unexpectedly in the company of two, mysterious companions.

It would have been rather funny, had the circumstances been different, but as it was, they could do nothing more than wait now, wait for a miracle – that Glorfindel would bring Legolas back through the veil of darkness, into the light once more, where he belonged.

Glorfindel approached the bed where Legolas now sat cross-legged, his gaze fixed on the bedspread beneath him. Now that Glorfindel looked more closely, he could see the heavy dark circles under his eyes, the slight loss of weight, the paleness of his skin, and an almost inaudible rattle to his breath that more than unnerved him. He was not well, that much was clear, and from what he had been able to discern the injury had been inflicted more than a month ago. He would ask for the details once the healers came to see him.

A knock on the door revealed Galdithion and Aradan, who set two trays down before smiling, bowing and leaving, closing the door behind them as they shared a hopeful glance with each other.

Revealing the food on one tray only, he popped a mushroom into his own mouth before holding another up to his lover's mouth, who took it mechanically and chewed. The tray was finished between the two of them, half of what Legolas would normally eat, and yet he refused to take any more with a simple shake of the head.

The healers visited later, pushing Legolas onto the bed gently and opening his loose shirt, baring the horrific injury to Glorfindel's anguished eyes for the first time.

'How could he have survived this?' he wondered. For the entire left side of the lovely chest and upper abdomen was a mass of ruined flesh that was still raw to the eye, and as the healers worked, they explained how he came by it, what the results had been, and what was still left to be done. He had learned that Legolas' respiratory capacity had been severely impaired and that this may be the cause of future strife, for it was unclear to them as to whether the lung would ever completely regenerate itself. And through it all, Legolas simply lay there, staring into nothing as he allowed them to poke and prod at will.

….

Later that evening, as Legolas slept fitfully, Glorfindel sat before the fire, together with Elladan. They had remained in silence for long minutes as each of them gathered their minds, for the general had questions, and Elladan knew it. But _how?_ – how could he possibly describe it all, how to summarize in one evening, what this experience had taught him, given him, _made_ him?

"Tell me, Elladan, what happened?" asked Glorfindel softly, watching his lord's son for his reactions, for the emotions behind the words he would utter.

"I, honestly, do not know where to begin, Glorfindel," he said, his intense grey eyes glittering with enthusiasm, achievement, challenge even, and yet Glorfindel saw something else there too – wisdom and love – yes, he had changed, physically, yet much more so on an intellectual level. This had been just what he had needed, for he was now, Elrondion, worthy of that noble name, a prince in his own right, no less.

Breaking the lingering gaze, Glorfindel sipped on the surprisingly good wine as he urged his lord to continue.

"Tell me then, of what you have learned, for by that, will I better understand the rest," he said wisely.

A deep breath signaled the beginning of Elladan's thoughts and experiences in the Greenwood, the Evergreen wood and the Mirkwood. He spoke of the darkness, its nature, how it is used as a weapon against them, how so very few were capable of serving in the southern reaches of the forest, because they could not tolerate the press of evil. He spoke of how fighting, death and suffering form a routine part of the warriors' lives, the razed villages, the slaughtered civilians, the constant grief, anxiety and injury.

He cried as he told his mentor of True Heart Beria's death and how Legolas had shephered him in bliss, through the haze of pain and horror at being disemboweled.

He spoke of the pleasure of Finlond and Love Lake, of the darker practices of Haven and then of the tavern they frequented, where Lindo had once sang, where each and every one of their dead brothers were remembered by the town folk.

He spoke of the Greenwood's worship and adoration of The Company, although especially for its commander, the love and respect that was dispensed to he whom they called their hope.

And then, he spoke of that final battle, when Barathon had betrayed them all, causing the poisoning of the Bard Warrior and the horrific injury of their lord.

When he finally finished, the tears had dried upon his face and he smiled, for through it all, however sad, traumatic, painful and difficult it had been, the outcome, the balance was an experience of such beauty that he could not but rejoice at it – and Glorfindel understood as he returned the smile.

"I am so very proud of you, _Lord _Elladan, and today, you have garnered my everlasting respect."

Elladan blinked for a moment, well aware of what Glorfindel was saying, and he breathed deeply, for in spite of his worry and anxiety for his sworn friend, profound satisfaction and a sense of achievement, of self-worth enveloped him. Glorfindel was telling him he was no longer simply the Son of Elrond. He was a Lord in his own right, by virtue of his deeds, and not his birth.

"Your words mean much to me, Lord Glorfindel. I have achieved far more than I could ever have imagined. I have gained a lover, a sworn friend, a second home, and – and a strange sense of destiny, Glorfindel – if that makes any sense to you…"

Glorfindel whipped his head around to meet Elladan's face, his wide eyes showing his surprise.

"What is it?" asked Elladan with no small amount of trepidation.

"You have reminded me of a recent conversation with your father and Erestor, for of late, I, too, am assailed with thoughts of the future, of destiny – things are in movement, my friend, and we are a part of it," he said softly, as his eyes strayed into the distance.

"Yes, that is exactly it, Glorfindel – and we are not the only ones, for I know that Legolas feels it, if not more so than we – he seems even to know what to do, although how I could not say," he trailed off, as his mind was brought back to the present, and his friend's breakdown.

"The wound should have killed him, Glorfindel, and my father will tell you the same – yet he lived, against the odds – but at what a price, my friend. Seldom have I seen such suffering, save once," he said gently as his mind strayed to the broken body and shattered mind of his mother.

"And even now, a month later, the struggle to breathe, the sheer, incapacitating nature of the wound – he grew frustrated and I believe that his mind rebelled, that with the weakening of the body, came the weakening of his emotional control. He… must have set to thinking … thinking too much…" he looked to Glorfindel, wondering if he understood. He had omitted his friend's role of Sîdhoneth and the sad story of Swallow – Legolas would tell him, if he so wished.

The blue eyes that stared back at him told him he did, and yet he spoke not.

"Draw him out, Glorfindel, make him speak of it, extract the poison that is eating away at him, make him strong once more, that he may travel with us to Imladris, and the healing arms of my father."

"I will, Elladan, I will, for that is now my purpose."

….

The following morning, as he sat upon his lover's bed, Glorfindel allowed himself to bring one hand up to caress his stunningly beautiful hair, now bereft of Yavanna's locks, he noticed, and yet Legolas continued to stare off into nothing.

Glorfindel had seen this before, had suffered it himself when he had been reborn, unable to comprehend how he had been able to die, been able to comprehend his own death, and the crushing sense of pity that had descended over him, for himself and for his lost city. He had suffered for years before he had finally cracked and broken down completely, for only then had healing finally been achieved, at least almost.

"Do you trust me, my love?"

Nothing.

"I will help you, Legolas. I will bring you back to the light, I swear."

And with that, his purpose and his path clear before him, he rose and opened the doors, and bid the guard call for the king, who stepped into the room not ten minutes later together with Aradan, Elladan and Antien.

"I ask that you confide King Legolas to my care, my King. In my favor I can only say that I know what ails him, and I know the solution to it, but you must trust me…"

"Tell me, Lord Glorfindel, how you propose to do this," asked Thranduil, as his shrewd eyes bored into those of the warrior.

"I will take him out, into the wilds, alone."

"My Lord, that is not wise. Lord Legolas is unstable at this point, you may not be safe."

"Lord Aradan, I will be safe. You must not fear for my well-being. You see, his suffering comes from grief, grief for those lost, grief for those that suffer, even for himself, his instability lies in his ire, his wrath, his desire to destroy that which makes him, and others, suffer, yet the filter that controls these impulses is gone, and his mind compensates for this loss by disconnecting his feelings almost completely…"

Antien was astounded at Glorfindel's knowledge on the subject, and suspected that there was more to it than simply having read a book.

"Yes, your reasoning is sound, my Lord," added Antien as he continued to listen avidly to Glorfindel's reasoning.

"My objective, is to take him away from those that suffer through his suffering, that he may relax, and then, I will force him to feel…if I am successful, then he will break completely, and that is when I would like to take him to my Lord Elrond, for no better than he to initiate his recuperation."

"Can we not care for him here, Lord Glorfindel, save him the incommodity of travel, for he is still weak from his injury, his lung is severely decimated and he may need further surgery; he will be of little use in a battle and the journey will be a great trial for one in his condition."

"My point, healer Antien, is that Lord Elrond is the Master Healer, all respects due to those present of course, yet more than this, their relationship is special. I know not what he has confided to you, my friends, but I tell you plainly, that although he and I are primary mates, Lord Elrond is also his, our lover, yet there is so much more to it than just that…"

It was Elladan who spoke up now.

"You are right, Glorfindel, for Legolas spoke to me of this one evening. He told me that his relationship with Lord Elrond, my father, is in some way related to his destiny. It is indeed, special, my King, and I know that what Lord Glorfindel says is the truth."

Thranduil stared long and hard into the eyes that returned his probing gaze openly and humbly. This, legendary warrior, lover of his son, was indeed a force of nature – beautiful and strong, wise yet compassionate, and the king found himself wondering what a sight they must be, together, when Legolas was fully recovered.

"Then do this, Lord Glorfindel – do this for _him_, for _your_ lover, for _my_ son and _their_ friend. Do this for us all, and be you ever beloved of the Greenwood. Take him into the Evergreen Wood, for there, no one will disturb you, only nature, those he protects, will accompany you. How long, do you think?"

"I know not, my Lord, anything from two days to two weeks. We will take provisions aplenty, I ask only that you respect our privacy, and that you do not follow us. As for me, I would do this even if by doing so I would incur your wrath, for nothing could have stopped me I tell you plainly. I would defy Elbereth herself, Mandos even, should they stand in my way, for you see – your son is the single most important person in my life, one I will never let go of, for he is beauty, and I, his humble servant…"

The room was struck silent, as they processed the heart-felt admission of love and adoration, and in spite of it all, when once more their heads came up to look on this, twice-born warrior, they did so with an indulgent smile. Many had met him for the first time this day, others for only the second time, none knew him well except for Elladan, and yet he had won their hearts with but one sentence…

…..…..

They had set out on horseback two days ago, travelling at a relaxed pace to accommodate Legolas's weakness and continuous pains, which, uncharacteristically, he made no attempt to hide. They stopped regularly, ate well and camped with the luxury of a fire, for here, there was no danger save that of the large mountain cats that dwelt in the craggy caves closer to the northern confines of the forest, at the foot of the lonely mountain, yet even they would obey the Lord of the Forests, for he was known to them.

Legolas had been just as despondent as he had been at the fortress. His gaze always downcast, his eyes those of a blind man, for he did not look about him to savour this marvel of nature, one that Glorfindel was now enamoured with, just as surprised as Elladan and Melven had been the first time they had set eyes upon it. Yet to walk through it was a privilege, he just wished that his love would come back, that he could enjoy this moment of his life beside the one who meant most to him.

He still would not speak unless to say 'yes' or 'no'. He would not look at him at all, his gait was that of an old man, his back bent, muscles stiff, and still, that far-away expression on his face.

That night, they camped upon a hill that looked out over a vast, rolling plane, surrounded on three sides by rocks, and in the middle, below them, the most vividly bluest lake Glorfindel had ever seen. The weather was cold, and they both now sat before the fire that crackled merrily, in stark contrast to the emotions reflected on his lover's heart-breakingly beautiful face, albeit it was marred with a sadness that hurt to look upon. He had wrapped a fur around Legolas' shoulders, yet he received no word of thanks, not even a nod of recognition – nothing.

He knew he would have to start drawing him out, and now was as good a time as any. Antien had mixed him a potion he said would help when the time came, for the healer was no stranger to what ailed his lover. He had called it 'battle sickness.' It was logical that a warrior so subjected to warfare and hardship must, at some point, suffer the consequences that war brought with it, add to that the responsibility he bore and then the weakness that extreme injury had caused…

The sky had turned a deep, dark blue and the full moon was starting to emerge from behind the craggy peaks before them, sending its silver haze down onto the plane below, reflecting off the perfectly flat surface of the mountain lake. It was beautiful, stunning even.

"I had never imagined a place like this, here, in your realm, Legolas. How your people have kept it safe all these years is a mystery to me."

The fire crackled and Glorfindel added another branch to it, biding his time as he rearranged the fur around his own shoulders, and his own thoughts.

"The world still holds places of beauty in it. Places where war does not exist, where darkness has not laid its filthy hand…"

"What was it like?" came a soft voice that startled Glorfindel so that he jumped, for it was the first sound Legolas had made in two days.

"What was _what _like?" repeated Glorfindel, deciding not to show his surprise, simply keep up the conversation, for as long as it would last.

"The touch of darkness – what was it like?"

'The touch of darkness', repeated Glorfindel to himself. Was he asking him what he _thought_ he was? About his _death_? He had never spoken of it, and no one had dared to ask him.

"You mean, you mean _death_?"

A short silence followed, as Legolas turned his face to meet the confused eyes of Glorfindel, eyes that reflected the glowing flames of the hearth, reminding him again of his lover's face when he had stood before the Balrog.

"Nay, not death," he said so softly it was almost a whisper. "The feel of it, the creature, its evil, its touch upon you, what was it like?"

Glorfindel sat stunned before he turned his head away, his eyes falling to the ground beneath him, a sudden feeling of anxiety invading him as his mind took him down a path he did not want to roam, not again.

When he turned back to look at his lover, he found him still staring at him, his gaze no longer weak and lost, but intense and… pleading, knowing? Was it possible that this warrior _understood_? And then it hit him so hard, the truth of his lover's sickness, his gut thumped so hard that his hand moved to cover his stomach and his breathing fell out of rhythm for a moment, before he finally controlled his body's reaction to even the possibility of remembering that, that moment - before the bliss of death had given him peace at last.

"Legolas…"

"You cannot describe it, for to do so is to suffer it, and give pleasure to he who inflicts it – you feed the circle of evil, become a part of it…just because you remember it."

"Legolas…" his voice began to break.

"How do you step out of the circle, describe it without _feeling_ it…," he pondered, unaware of the distress he was causing.

"Don't…"

"Or can you step out of the circle, describe it and feel it without _him_ feeling your suffering?"

"Stop, I don't…"

"You _do_. You have never spoken of it because you _can't_ – you too, understood this."

"I no longer suffer…"

"So long as the subject does not come up, because when it does, your stomach rebels, your heart accelerates, you feel anxiety, grief, you feel utterly _lost_…"

"Then you ignore it…" tried Glorfindel, knowing in his heart that this was not the answer.

"But what if you couldn't. What if – everything you do reminds you, just as I asked you a simple question… what if you lose a warrior, and another, what if you witness the death of civilians and children, what if… what if you kill your own kin, that the circle may be broken…"

The conversation came to an abrupt stop, as Glorfindel stared wide-eyed at the warrior before him. '…_what if you kill your own kin_…'.

"Yes, Glorfindel," declared Legolas, triumphantly almost. "_This_ is the face of a kinslayer, _Sîdhoneth_, they call me, for I break the circle of darkness, I take away their enjoyment, and therefore their motivation…"

Glorfindel could not answer, for Legolas' words had been coherent to a fault, not the babbling, confused words of one whose mind was lost. Yet they were so packed with meaning and innuendo, he needed time to get his head around it.

"You must forgive me, but your mind races way ahead of mine. I have an inkling as to what you speak of – and I am so glad that you have – spoken of it, yet if I am to be of any use to you, I must first understand."

He kept his gaze on Legolas, who returned it for a few short seconds, before looking down once more, pulling his fur around him and laying himself painfully back against the bark of a fir tree.

Glorfindel sighed deeply, for he had been right. This was so much more than the grief and depression of too much battle – this was something very few had suffered, something he himself had suffered in silence, with no one close enough to help him, for he had died. He had survived it, and yet Legolas was right, he _did_ ignore it, and you don't ignore something that is not there, – indeed his own suffering had jumped to the fore at the mere mention of it, a mere question. Of course he understood, but he had not been able to tell Legolas that he was right, for to do so would be to acquiesce to talk about it.

Digging into his large pack, he found the herbs he needed and threw them into the cup of hot water, leaving them to steep. Shuffling over to his reclining lover, he touched him lightly on the shoulder, wondering if he would get a response.

He did, though not the one he would have liked, for Legolas simply looked his way, his eyes still downcast, listening but not looking, and Glorfindel felt his heart constrict then, for the beauty of his lover struck him senseless, and speechless. He moved to sit beside him, feeling the heat of his body. Rearranging his own fur to cover them both, he turned his head to the side, observing the strong profile. Slowly, he reached for the hand below, finding it – ice cold and unresponsive, and so he pulled it towards him, kissed it reverently, and then placed the warm cup in it, covering the hand with his own and urging him to drink.

Hours later, Glorfindel awoke to the scream of an eagle, soaring high above them, searching for prey. He was comfortable, he realized, and warm, and then he saw why, for Legolas' head had fallen onto his chest, and in his sleep, he had wrapped one arm around him, snuggling into the warmth, his hair spread out over Glorfindel's chest. His lover slept deeply, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. He could have cried, for this was the first tender touch they had shared since he had arrived, and with all that he was, he wanted him then, loved him more than anything, anyone, even himself, and suddenly, all the grief for himself, faded into nothing in comparison to what he would feel, should he ever lose Legolas.

He hugged the sleeping body against him, wrapping his own arms around him protectively, one hand upon his head. 'I will bring you back my love, and perhaps there will be healing for us both.'

And as his eyes strayed over the ragged outcrop before them, they opened wide in startled amazement, yet he dare not move lest he spoil the magical moment – for a mighty eagle had poised its majestic body upon the highest rock, only now folding the beautiful wings into its sides, and as Glorfindel watched on in awe-struck admiration, wondering how it had been possible he had missed his arrival, he thought that perhaps, he had already been there when they had arrived, camouflaged against the grey, brown and green of the outcrop. The bird turned its magnificent face, only to look straight into the warrior's eyes, his golden beak glinting in the moonlight. There was no trepidation at all, only the wise, intelligent gaze of one who had seen many years, and many things.

It felt like a dream, yet it was not – for this being was ancient indeed, and he had rather thought him dead, or returned across the sea – and yet here he was, in the Evergreen Wood. It was but another omen of the future, his appearance symbolic of things to come, for Glorfindel's previous life seemed to be merging with his third-age existence.

The knowing face of this king, held the warrior's gaze, willing him to understand as he pledged his oath of fealty to the Forest Lord and to his protector, just as he had done so many years ago, to another king beyond the Encircling Mountains. 'Still just as beautiful, more so perhaps. Still as brave and courageous,' he thought as he watched on. 'Still blessed of the Valar – for their light shines brightly in him', observed King Thorondor, mighty eagle of the Crissaegrim.


	34. Break to Deliverance

Chapter 34: Break to Deliverance

The next morning, Glorfindel awoke, the same tree at his back, and yet he as alone. Searching the camp with his eyes, he found Legolas sitting cross-legged at the edge of the rocky outcrop, still wrapped in the furs he had slept in, just next to where Thorondor had perched the night before.

He rose and lit their hearth once more, setting water to boiling and unpacking the dried meat and pastries they had brought with them. His mind was still in utter shock after last night's visitation, for Thorondor had been a staunch protector of his home land. How had he survived this long? And why was he here, in the Evergreen Wood? Yet when he thought about it, he realized there was no better place for one such as he to live, for no one wandered these lands, save for the foresters and a few, privileged others. It was but another sign, of the many that had become clear to him in the last few months.

Once the tea had been prepared, he walked over to his lover and sat beside him, setting down the brew and food and turning to the scenery before him, breathing the frigid morning air and the woodland aromas of spices and herbs, wild flowers and resin.

"'Tis colder today," remarked Glorfindel.

There was no answer, and it seemed to Glorfindel that they had gone back to the same routine of the last two days, with the promising exception of the previous night.

"There are still places of beauty in this world…" said Legolas, repeating the words that Glorfindel had spoken that past evening.

The warrior turned to look at him, but Legolas continued to stare out into the horizon, no more words leaving his lips.

….

Today, they were traversing the shores of the lake they had looked down on several days ago. Its waters were crystal clear, the multi -colored pebbles clearly visible below. It had been an entire week since that uncomfortable conversation about the darkness, and Legolas had spoken no more, retreating once more into silence.

Their horses ambled slowly along, bowing their heads to sniff at the cool water and the lush, inviting vegetation that grew upon the banks. With a slight nudge of the knee, Glorfindel's horse led him to his lover's side.

"Some days ago, you asked me a question that sent my body into near panic before I could even react, for you touched upon a subject that I have never spoken of, an episode in my life that frightened me, shook me to my core, one I am not sure I can speak of, can you understand that?"

This time, Legolas responded, a simple twist of the head to look him square in the face.

"Yes," was all he said.

'Of course,' mused Glorfindel, for if his suspicions were correct, of course he understood, for it was the same ailment that had taken his lover, who could not speak of it either. 'Yet he must' he thought, and then corrected himself, 'we must', yet how? How to break through? For it was fear that hindered the telling, this he knew beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, it was fear of losing control, fear of what you yourself are capable of feeling. And yet Legolas had said something most interesting on that magical night. He had spoken of feeding the circle of darkness, had spoken of not showing the suffering because that is what perpetuated it, and Legolas fought the enemy with a passion that was hard to rival, according to what Elladan had told him. He realized then, that _that_ was the reason for his silence, because to speak and unburden himself, would be to lose.

And yet, and yet there was something that perhaps would work, that perhaps Legolas had not thought of…

"Legolas, I know the wherefore of your silence," he began tentatively.

No answer.

"You cannot speak for you would suffer, and by your suffering you would make me suffer, which fuels the darkness, is that not it?" he asked softly, watching closely now.

Legolas' horse stopped, its rider staring at the floor, his brow furrowed.

"You remain silent because you fear to speak."

"I…"

"You fear to lose control…," he had it, had found his way inside, he knew, as he continued to watch Legolas. Throwing one foot over the saddle and sinking to the floor, he walked slowly over to the other horse, who watched him closely, its eyes full of protective love.

"Because if you speak, you will break, and if you break, you lose the battle, and _He_ wins, and this is the only part I do not understand – do you think _He_ can see you here? For I do not think that he can…"

"''Tis not important that…"

"That _what_!" he exclaimed harshly, taking a risk and forcing his lover to speak.

"'Tis not important that _He_ see you or me, not here," interrupted Legolas. "That is important where his minions walk, aye, but not here, - here it is…"

"What then? You are _frightened_? You? King Legolas, Lord of the Forests? Mighty warrior and defender of the Greenwood? Son of the Elven king? Protégé of Yavanna - You – are – _frightenend_?"

Legolas had dismounted clumsily and had started to walk away, slowly, as if in a daze.

"So it _IS_ true, you _are_ scared, nay terrified, of _yourself_!" he shouted after him.

Legolas sunk to his knees and vomited onto the pebble-strewn shore of the lake. Glorfindel stayed where he was, a distance behind him, for if he ran to his aid he would surely be pushed away.

Rising to his shaky legs he continued to walk unsteadily towards the trees behind him, standing before them for a moment, before walking into the dense, lakeshore forest.

"I am, I am full – I am, full of, full of _grief_, the never-ending grief, I am full of their faces, their happy, smiling faces, their names, I remember their _names_, I remember their smell, their hair, the colour of their eyes, I remember the villages that once were, the women and the children, I remember their tear-streaked faces, their grief at the loss of a lover, of a _child_, I remember their pleas for mercy, I remember their last moments, before my arrows took innocent lives, as their tips pierce the soft tissue, and the torment ends, "

He was kneeling now, talking into the ground almost, his arms wrapped around himself, as his tears streamed onto the springy ground below him, and Glorfindel stood, and watched, and waited as his heart rent, breaking into a million tiny shards …

"I am full, full of, full of _rage_, ire, _wrath_," he spat, his saliva escaping him, "…Imrathon, Himaethor, Luthohtar, Berthohtar, Raugohtar, Lindo… " he muttered.

It was then, while Glorfindel debated whether or not to succor his lover, that it began. Only a light breeze at first, but as the seconds passed, it slowly began to pick up speed and intensity, and yet as he studied his surroundings, Glorfindel came to the startling realization that it was only here, where he stood, but more, where Legolas knelt. It was not natural – this was a force beyond his ken.

The now howling gale pelted him, as if bent on pushing him back, away from the copse of trees, yet he stood his ground, narrowing his eyes and peering through the swirling wind at Legolas, who knelt with his arms out to his sides and his head thrown back, his thick locks of pale hair undulating strangely, too slowly it seemed, as if for him, time had slowed down when everything else around him sped on in a whirlwind of magic.

He was mesmerized, alarmed, wanted to run to his lover's side yet knew somehow that he should not, for nature held him firmly in place.

Legolas heaved a mighty breath before screaming it out to the wind with all that he was, his veins standing out starkly as all the anger, all the hurt and grief were channeled into that one, terrible scream of pain and anguish, all the emotions gushing from him as the scream was carried on the angry, swirling currents. The thick branches swayed dangerously in the savage onslaught of enraged air, bending almost impossibly, whipping back and forth in such a display of force that Glorfindel felt humbled.

The writhing forest seemed to close in on itself then, and he momentarily lost sight of his kneeling lover and his heart somersaulted in his heaving chest. How much time passed he could not say, seconds, perhaps a minute, and then the branches straightened themselves out, returning to their natural state once more, not a hint of a breeze to be felt at all.

Legolas lay there, on his back, dead for all Glorfindel knew, and so he stepped forward, hesitantly at first, until anxiety got the better of him and he first strode, then jogged and then sprinted the final distance until he was kneeling beside his prostrate lover.

His eyes were closed, his arms still out to the side, and around one of his hands, a brownish green root had coiled itself, climbed up his pale forearm only to stay there, possessively, almost, until moving of its own accord, slowly slipping away, into the earth once more, where it belonged.

…..

It was a cold February morning when Legolas and Glorfindel emerged from the frigid morning mist of the Evergreen Wood, at the base of the mountain side, atop which stood the fortress of the Greenwood. The view from the back was so very different from the one at the front, mused Glorfindel. From here, this seemed a realm of peace and serenity, of such natural beauty he was reminded of Gondolin. Approaching from the south, however, although beautiful and the fortress itself spectacular, it was clearly a land immersed in war – 'how strange', he thought, 'how magical,' paradoxical yet not so, for they were but two faces of the same coin; war and peace, light and dark, mundane – and arcane…

The guard at the entrance to the lower caves stomped to attention, before removing the long, steel-tipped pike he held across the massive doors. He could not show his emotions for he had been trained not to, but his heart jumped in joy at the return of his lord, for all that he did not look well, but he was alive, and seemed cognizant. And so he watched in veiled happiness as he passed him by, the Gondolin lord behind him briefly catching his eye as he passed, startling him somewhat. A slight nod of the golden head and the guard smiled as his heart soared – there hope was back.

Finally inside, they walked straight to Legolas' rooms on the penultimate floor, although by then, his lover was panting so hard that he had to stop, bend over and place his hands on his knees to ease the passage of air. Glorfindel waited patiently for him to recuperate – he knew well that showing concern would get him nowhere, and only serve to fuel his lover's already frayed nerves. In fact, they were so close to the door that Glorfindel simply walked ahead, opened it and began to light the candles.

They had chosen the early morning hours purposefully, for Legolas had no wish for a reception and indeed they had been lucky thus far.

Legolas finally entered the room, walking slowly over to the bed and wiping the sweat from his brow. Yet no sooner had Glorfindel sat down beside him, and Galion appeared at the still open door, although he hesitated before stepping cautiously inside, moving to stand before his disheveled lord.

"My Lord, it warms my heart to see you once more," he said softly, yet he did not ask after his well-being, lest he initiate an unpleasant conversation, and so he waited patiently for Legolas to answer him.

"Thank you, Galion," was all he said. No smile, no nod, nothing – just a cold, practical answer.

"Can I be of service to you, my Lord?" he asked again, hoping he would get a longer answer this time.

"Water for bathing if you will," he said, his tone one of command, not rude, simply functional.

"Very well, my Lord," he said, bowing before turning for the door, not before catching Glorfindel's eyes.

"Galion," said Glorfindel softly.

"My Lord?" he said, turning to the warrior.

"Would you request of King Thranduil that he give us some time to refresh ourselves before seeking to accompany us?"

Galion looked at him with round eyes, for to keep Thranduil from his son's rooms now was going to be a challenge. However, he would find a way, for he understood the request perfectly. Legolas did not look well at all, and after two weeks camping out, he was sure they would both want to take a moment to acclimatize, and indulge in a little comfort for themselves.

"I will try my very best, my Lord. Shall I bring you some food, and wine, perhaps?"

Glorfindel smiled kindly then, and Galion was struck by just how beautiful this legend was. It was not only the physical aspects of his body, but his expression, his wise, powerful eyes were enough to seduce the most unsuspecting of elves, and he himself was no exception.

"Perfect," was all Glorfindel answered, albeit with a winning smile, and Galion thought to himself then, 'perfect – indeed'.

However, Galion had no need to search for the king, for he met him together with Lainion as they climbed the last flight of stairs.

"My Lord, I have a request from Lord Glorfindel, if I may?" he asked tentatively.

Thranduil stopped short then, reaching the landing and gesturing for the house master to continue.

"He has requested a moment of solitude, for they wish to bathe and eat."

The king was surprised, yet he knew not why, for the last time he had seen his son, he would not even talk to him, look him in the eye. Why he supposed things would be any different now was a mystery, answered only by his own wishful thinking, and perhaps his natural tendency to trust in Glorfindel's ability to draw Legolas out.

"What – was he well?" asked the king as his eyes searched the house master's face.

"I, I do not know, my Lord. He was somewhat – disheveled if I may say so. He answered my questions somewhat coldly, there was no – warmth in his eyes, my Lord, almost as if he were – angry," he said, speaking his mind without hesitation. "And yet he _did_ answer me, so I suppose that is something, my Lord."

"Indeed, perhaps. Well, Lainion, let us go back down and wait. I see no point in forcing an unwanted situation. Come for me when I will be welcomed then?"

"Of course, my Lord," he said, bowing and trotting down the steps to the kitchens.

Thranduil and Lainion turned and went downstairs, the king lost in his own, internal pondering, wondering if this was a good or bad sign. Galion was right in that at least he had spoken, and although it galled him to have to wait to have his questions answered, he understood why Glorfindel had requested it.

He sighed audibly, trying and failing to rid himself of the heaviness that had, once more, descended over him like a mantle of lead.

…..

Two hours later, and the entire fortress and outlying areas were aware of Legolas' return to the fortress. Galdithion and Elladan had gone straight to their friend's rooms, only to come face to face with Glorfindel, who asked them to come back later, and in spite of their barrage of questions, the warrior lord would not answer them, asking only for their understanding.

Galdithion had seen fit to post a guard at the door to prevent others from interrupting the solitude that Glorfindel so obviously wanted for Legolas. The pair had then finally returned to their training, yet their hearts were no longer in it.

…

Legolas had stood abruptly and walked purposefully into the bathing chamber, removing his clothing somewhat irritably, before stepping into the hot water and leaning back, willing his tense muscles to loosen up. He had not closed the doors, realized Glorfindel, and so he took immediate advantage and poured them both a goblet of wine.

Walking into the bathing room, he simply held out the offering, which Legolas took to his lips immediately, drinking and then sighing as he lay his head back once more.

"Thank you for keeping them away for a while, I had no wish to see anyone, still do not," he said in what was, by now, characteristic of this, new Legolas.

"They love you," was all Glorfindel said as he drank from his own wine.

"Yes, and what suffering that brings – "

"And joy," added Glorfindel.

Legolas did not answer as he began to wash himself, avoiding his scarred left side, for it was still tender, and strangely sensitive to the slightest brush of cloth. Glorfindel observed him from his seat across the room. 'Still so beautiful', he thought. The scar was atrocious, pink and puckered in places, smooth in others. The scar on his collar bone was still clearly visible, as were other slashes and cuts he had received in the last year since Glorfindel had not seen him, testimony to the harsh battle that raged under the eaves of the forests, as Elladan had related to him before they had left for the wilds - and yet, 'still so beautiful', in spite of the coldness that now resided in his green eyes; where before there had only been resolve, strength and love, now there was ice and rage, and just sometimes, a glint of grief.

He was suddenly startled from his musing when Legolas spoke.

"What is it that you see?" he asked, without looking, simply continuing with his bathing.

"I see – I see anger, Legolas, and suffering…I see beauty, and strength beyond what reason would dictate…"

Legolas did look then, for Glorfindel was speaking with a passion far beyond what these words seemed to merit.

"I see so much love, even unto your own undoing – I see, I see _me_…" he finished, his face one of utter shock at what he had just said. The words had flowed from his mouth as if on their own accord. "You love so much that you are the first to stand before the enemy, you are the first to comfort, you end Elven lives to take away their suffering, that you may bear it yourself as a kinslayer, to whatever end –"

"And you," began Legolas, "you ended your own life for these very same reasons, for you surely knew the outcome of your confrontation – this is why you see yourself in me?" he asked.

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean."

"Then you are a _fool_! For _you_, Glorfindel, did not break – I did. We are not the same." He said no more then, and neither did Glorfindel, for he had never spoken of his time with Mandos, how could he tell Legolas, tell anyone, of what he had endured? And so he stood, and left the room, headed for the windows that looked out over the spectacular Evergreen Wood, feeling his eyes prickle with tears of guilt. He had left his lover thinking he was weak, and there was nothing – _nothing_ further from the truth, for he, Glorfindel, was the coward and he had hurt his lover for no other reason than to preserve his own sanity…

Sometime later, Legolas emerged from the bathing room, dressed in a loose skirt and an open shirt. He had toweled his hair dry, and now proceeded to brush it as he stood beside the bed. He felt sad again, which led to anger bubbling inside him once more, for it reminded him that he was weak, that he had not been able to control himself, he was not what he once thought himself to be.

He glanced at Glorfindel, who stood with his back towards him, looking out over the vast expanse of the forest they had only just returned from. He began to speak, so quietly at first, that Legolas did not realize.

"I am so sorry," he whispered.

Legolas stopped his brushing as he strained his ears to hear what Glorfindel said.

"Sorry for withholding it from you. Sorry for making you think yourself weak, for putting my own feelings before yours, my _selfishness_…"

Legolas began to realize the importance of what Glorfindel said, he dared not speak, and so instead, he sat silently upon the bed, staring at his lover's back.

"I never spoke of it, for fear of falling, enduring what you have - are. I am sorry – for the gief was so deep, so painful that it terrified me, for to lose control of myself I perceived as the greatest of failings. I am sorry, for it is not true, this I now know. 'Tis not losing control of oneself, the failing is in not understanding one's own nature. I endured so much, just as you have, and I could take no more, 'tis not a failing, it is a miracle we lasted so long…"

Legolas now looked to the bed cover as he analyzed the whispered words that were slowly becoming louder…

"I am sorry, because I felt grief and I was ashamed, I felt the fall of my city so acutely, Legolas. I felt their lives as they were extinguished, watched as my warriors fell, one after the other. I am sorry for I felt panic and absolute terror in the face of the _valarauko_, I am sorry because I _did_ break and I was not brave enough to accept that, to admit to it…"

"Glorfindel…"

"I am sorry," he continued, his voice beginning to break, yet he could not stop, after so long, it was finally leaving him, as infection oozes from a wound.

"I sat in Mando's garden for what seemed an eternity, on my knees in silent grief, for those that perished, and for _me_, Legolas, for the pity I felt for _myself_, for the pain and loss of _myself_ - my own death was simply – indescribable."

His chest was heaving as his voice became louder and louder, the words pouring from his mouth as his fists clenched at his sides.

"And all – these – years – all those centuries that passed me by in a haze of grief. I am sorry because I lost myself, completely and irrevocably – we _are_ alike, Legolas, we are so much of like mind."

The words stopped then and he turned to face Legolas for the first time, who was now standing half way between the bed and his lover, shock and pain filtering though the cold mask he had worn for the last two weeks, for Glorfindel wept.

"You lost yourself," said Legolas as he walked slowly towards his lover. "And I lost myself, am still lost, and yet – and yet I have found myself once more, in _you_," he whispered as his own tears sprang forth, spilling over his pale cheeks as he continued to speak.

"Are we weak then – you and I?" he implored, for the answer to that question would be the catalyst for him, he knew. Placing a hand over his lover's wet cheek, he continued to question, his eyes probing the grieving warrior before him. "Are we weak because we cannot fight this one thing? What makes us _strong _is the love we feel, the love that fuels our service to land and lord, and yet this same love is what _breaks_ us, so tell me – are we weak, you and I?

"Nay!" he whispered fiercely, watching in fascination as the tears brimmed out of the stunning green eyes that searched his own for the answers they sought. "Our only weakness is – our terror at _showing_ our weakness – does that make sense to you?" asked Glorfindel.

"Yes, it makes sense – and yet the grief is real, the suffering is real, whether we show it or not… I must think on this, Glorfindel, yet to know you know, that you understand, has brought me some relief, my love. Can you – can you abide with me? Can you see through the anger, my short temper, my spiteful words and selfish deeds?"

"Always, my love, if you wish it."

"I do wish it, always."

Glorfindel held Legolas' gaze, wondering if his lover had really understood the meaning of his words, yet he was snapped out of the magical moment as Legolas coughed, turning his head and covering his mouth with his hand, only to cough again.

"Here, come and sit for a while," he said, taking his lover's elbow and guiding him to the side of the bed, watching as he took a series of deep breaths to replenish his lungs.

"Damn it all, Glorfindel," he said irritably. Would that I could just _breathe_ properly!" he said pitifully.

"Come," was all he said as he pulled his lover back onto his chest, pressing his body up behind him, embracing him softly as he whispered into his ear.

"Rest, my love."

It was not long before Legolas relaxed into his undemanding embrace and his breathing evened out, slipping into a light reverie.

Glorfindel simply lay there, unable to sleep himself, for his mind was in utter turmoil, yet it was not a bad feeling – it was as though his mind had not been able to keep up with the strange chain of events that had played out since they had arrived in Legolas' rooms. His realization of how similar their circumstances where, his own admission of having broken after his death, and then – what he had said, and whether Legolas had understood him – they had been interrupted, but that would not change the way he felt, would not change what he now knew he wanted.

He had always wondered why he had been sent back so quickly after his fall. For what purpose? To serve the Noldo Lord Elrond and his family – but _why_? It had never made sense to him, and yet now, now he began to suspect that he had simply misunderstood. There was much more to it than that, and Legolas was the key – he was sure of it.


	35. Those Eyes

Chapter 35: Those Eyes

Sometime later, Glorfindel realized he had, indeed, dozed off, for he had opened his eyes to a soft knock on the door. 'Galion', he thought, and so he rose carefully and padded over to the door, opening it only slightly to ensure he was right. And there was the house master, his arms laden with trays that Glorfindel knew not how he had managed to balance along his arms - 'the virtues of experience,' he supposed.

Opening the door wide enough for him to pass, he promptly closed it once more and gestured to the table before the splendid windows of Legolas' rooms.

Galion set down the trays, his eyes straying to the sleeping figure upon the bed, and then to the fire that burned low in the hearth. Without asking, he walked over to the chimney and stoked the fire, before adding more fuel and waiting for it to catch. Standing once more, he turned to Glorfindel, who had been inspecting the contents of the trays and now looked at him with something akin to fascination upon his strong face.

"Is there anything missing, my Lord?" asked Galion in that characteristic, lilting accent of Sylvan elves.

"There is nothing missing, Galion – you have been most thorough and … thoughtful," he added, for the trays contained not only food and wine, but herbs, oils and fragrances, amongst other things Glorfindel was sure to find.

"My Lord, there are more… articles outside…"

"Articles?" asked Glorfindel, intrigued.

"Aye, my Lord. 'Tis difficult to describe it, I suggest you look…"

Glancing at the bed to check Legolas still slept, he moved to the door and cracked it open once more. His eyes jumped open at the sight before him, albeit he had to crane his neck around the guard standing there, for piled against the walls of the corridor, were flowers of all shapes and sizes, plants in pots and glass jars, parchments rolled in colorful ribbons, baskets, and many more objects he could not quite make out, not without leaving the room.

Closing the door once more, he turned his watery, wide-eyed expression to Galion, who smiled enigmatically at the Lord, showing the quiet wisdom he possessed under the mantle of servitude he almost always wore.

"They have been visiting almost since you arrived, my Lord. They creep silently down the corridor, deposit their offerings, and leave silently, for they have been told not to disturb. Our Lord is well loved by Sindar, Avar and Sylvan alike – they have missed his presence and worried themselves sick for these past two weeks, and although you slipped in quite stealthily, my Lord, 'twas not enough to hide the return of the Forest Lord…"

Glorfindel smiled sincerely for the first time since their arrival, and pride invaded his being so powerfully that his shoulders heaved as his head tilted back, the ample beam still plastered over his face as he met Galion's knowing gaze once more.

"Yes, he is well-loved, Galion, here and in Imladris, for he is the most extraordinary being on Arda…" he proclaimed, and Galion read his mind perfectly, for Glorfindel stood tall, strong and proud; this warrior loved Legolas, and the house master was ecstatic.

"Thank you, Galion," said Glorfindel softly yet pointedly, to which the servant bowed, knowing that the warrior had thanked him for so much more than for serving the food. Turning, he walked from the room; he had not seen his lord's face, had not even spoken to him, and yet he knew that Glorfindel had brought him back, somehow, against the odds, the Forest Lord had been returned to them.

…

Legolas had slept for three long hours, during which Glorfindel had silently retrieved as much as he could from the corridor outside. Now, the three rooms that made up the suite, were full of vases with flowers, plant pots, fragrant candles, pastries, nuts and other forest fruits... He had placed the many scrolls upon the commander's work table, for reading when the time was right.

Glorfindel had even had time to bathe and change himself, and he now sat on the bed, beside his lover, who slept on. He watched him breathing, watched the slight hitch and the way his chest seemed to move somewhat exaggeratedly. His lung was compromised, he knew, and he wondered if Elrond would be able to restore him to full health. His face was pale and his eyes shadowed, blood loss had taken a mighty toll on him, although this he did know, would improve sooner.

Legolas stirred then, his brow furrowing immediately as the pain began to register in his sluggish mind. A moan escaped him, before his eyes finally opened and his hand moved to his side.

"Slowly, my love," whispered Glorfindel, his face now inches from Legolas'.

He gasped in pain as he rolled onto his back, feeling Glorfindel's hand on his brow, his now racing heart slowly but surely calming itself under the loving touch, until he could open his eyes once more, only to train onto those of his lover…

His eyes, those penetrating blue eyes stared at him, sinking into the depths of his own. There was a deep-rooted sadness in them, one that had not been there before and then it came back to him in a flash – the admittance of weakness, the confession of having spent years on his knees in silent grief, the awakening of a part of Glorfindel of Gondolin that his lover had desperately tried to bury and forget, for the memory of it had been horrifying, for Glorfindel, like Legolas, was terrified of the emotions it provoked; and yet, the darkness and malevolence, the pure evil of the Dark One and all He was capable of conjuring, were _nothing_ in comparison to the very thought of failing, of being weak, incapacitated – useless.

His eyes, those heartbreakingly beautiful blue eyes that stared at him now in adoration, a feather-light touch of a hand against his cheek, down to his jaw and back to his ear. A hint of a smile graced his perfectly sculpted lips, just a little, for his eyes remained sad, and yet the joy of love was battling within them, vying for domination over the terrors of the past, the terrors of that memory, of death.

Those eyes, so intense, so full of living, of wisdom. They held his green gaze as they continued their quest to fathom the depths of his mind, to _understand_. The body hovered over his own, the golden silk framing the face so close to his own, forming a curtain of privacy around them, albeit they were alone upon the bed. 'What did he see?' wondered the protégé. Did he still believe they were alike? That their experiences and their reactions to them were the fruit of like minds? Perhaps he was right. Perhaps their weakness was their terror of being weak… what a paradox, what a strange conundrum, and yet what _is _weakness? How can one define it? Is it not natural to have weaknesses? Can one truly rid oneself of them all? Is it _possible_?

Did those eyes see his thoughts? Understand his own internal musings? See the depth of them? Did they see his grief? His guilt? His own self-loathing?

He lost focus then, for the face was now too close, as soft flesh pressed against his lips so tenderly it brought a tear to his eyes, and another. 'Strange,' he thought, 'that one sweet caress could have such a profound impact,' for that one, simple gesture had brushed upon his very soul, hoisted it aloft, encased it in a golden light of love and protection, and for a moment, the convoluted layers of grief and guilt lifted and he was in ecstasy, flying on the wings of freedom – freedom from suffering and weakness, soaring above the mundane and floating joyously in bliss. '_What is this_!' he screamed to himself, for he would stay here, for eternity if he could, immersed in this feeling until the ending of all things…

A tear splashed upon his face then, and another as the face came back into focus and he saw them once more. Those eyes, those vivid blue irises that now swam in a tempestuous sea of emotions.

"What is this place of peace, Legolas?" he whispered in awe, unable to comprehend what was happening to him.

Green eyes locked with blue then, and understanding dawned on the Lord of the Forests.

"Your soul calls to mine, seeks to encase it and I have seen the _bliss _to be had…"

"Yes, _your_ soul, Legolas, 'tis _your_ essence, the beauty of _you_…"

"And yet I, have seen yours," replied Legolas, "and I am lost, addicted, left needing of the light that pulses within you. 'Tis brilliant and powerful, irresistible - I wish to melt into you, yield my very soul that it may join with yours, rest together by your side…"

The tears poured freely now, for Legolas was awash in the emotions that assailed him, the pull of Glorfindel's soul so powerful it was tearing through his grief and agony, striking out at the dark remnants and setting his noble heart free once more, from the shadow that had taken it.

"Legolas?" he asked, his voice trembling and insecure, unsure of what words would spill forth from his own mouth, for he now spoke from the soul and he could not stop it.

"Will you _accept_ my soul? Will you carry it with you – for eternity, even unto death?"

Green eyes stared into blue, and another layer of darkness disintegrated, the anxiety beginning to waver, as a glint of hope sparked within the swirling darkness that was emerging to the surface of his mind.

"You would bind your soul, your sparkling, brilliant soul – to _mine_?" asked Legolas desperately as the tears soaked the pillow below, for his heart ached, hurt with the love that assailed him as powerfully as any physical blow.

"I would bind my ancient soul to yours – for you are the beauty it seeks to cling to – everything _He_ is not, the antithesis of darkness, and – and my salvation. Bind yourself to me? Take me to bliss, that I, in return, may love you, and follow you in all that you do – help you to shape this world for the future harvest, for this I now know, is my purpose, and my most fervent desire…"

"With _you _at my side – we are indestructible, for even in death, we will not be parted. I will bind myself to you, warrior lord of Gondolin, for the love I hold for you knows no boundaries, will not be harnessed, can _never _be sundered."

They stayed that way, locked one over the other, their hands clasped firmly to each other's heads, their tears baptizing the worshipping hands that caressed, swimming eyes that searched for and found the truth, and then – their brilliant, joyous smiles as reality finally dawned upon them – they were cured, and they would be one, and when the time was right, when Legolas was healed, they would seal their troths before Elvendom, and the Dark One would quake in fear, for no force in this world or the next, could break what would soon, become unbreakable, invincible.

They had spoken their oaths, and now, they were betrothed.

…..

Thranduil was, by now, at the very end of his regal patience, and Aradan had simply run out of ploys to keep his liege lord in his office. Lainion, he knew, stood outside, but he would do nothing to stop him, was probably just as eager to get to his brother's rooms.

"They have had their time, and now I will see my son."

Aradan looked at him blankly, for there had been no question or request for council – it was simply a declaration of intent, yet as he rose abruptly, a knock at the door stilled him mid-stride. Whoever had knocked, had Lainion's safe passage…

"Come," he called, resisting the urge to crane his neck and get a glimpse of who was behind the door.

Golden hair – Glorfindel, the pale blond of his son's long locks just behind him.

They stood side by side, of equal height, both imposing warriors, yet Legolas held himself somewhat painfully, his face and lips pale, his eyes shadowed – and yet, and yet there was a new spark to them; there was still sadness and confusion, anger perhaps, and yet the change was drastic, and the scowl disappeared from the father's face, his forehead smoothing itself suddenly as his own eyes lit up in hope.

The silence dragged on for a moment longer, before Legolas himself broke it, much to the surprise of Aradan, Thranduil and Lainion, who had permitted himself the license of stepping inside the room.

"Sire, I beg your audience on three issues I wish to put to you."

Thranduil was surprised at the formality, and yet he would not stop it, for there would be a reason for it, he was sure, and so he nodded formally at the commander in consent.

"Sire, I beg forgiveness for my recent behavior," he said formally as he knelt clumsily before his king, his head bowed in humble submission.

Thranduil resisted the urge to embrace him, to forget protocol and be the father he was, yet Legolas had obviously felt the need to apologize formally, and he would not be the one to gainsay him.

"Rise, Lord Legolas. Your king forgives you, and – welcomes you back…" he said, feeling his throat close and his eyes prickle, for the pride he held for this, his progeny, could simply not be quantified, was beyond mere words.

"And yet there is nothing to forgive, my Lord," added the king.

Legolas rose slowly to his feet and bowed, before moving forward and placing his hand over his father's heart, and then stepping back once more.

"I wish to beg your consent – to bind myself to Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin and Imladris," he said solemnly, for he was not at all sure of his father's feelings on the subject.

Thranduil's breath left him so suddenly he had to struggle to not gasp and just breathe normally. However no words came, and Legolas faced his father now, the shadow of a question upon his face.

"I – forgive me, my Lord, that was, unexpected," confessed the stunned king.

"I understand, Sire. Will you concede to think on my request?"

"I do not need to think on it, my Lord. I do, however, have a necessary condition before I can give my approval."

"Yes, my Lord, speak it."

Another period of silence now had Lainion, Aradan, Legolas and Glorfindel himself, staring at the king with something akin to panic.

"That you swear no oath of fealty, for I reserve the right to request offspring of my heir."

Legolas looked to the floor before his head whipped to the side, mirroring perfectly Glorfindel's own movements, who was grinning saucily, in spite of the gravity of the moment.

Legolas read his thoughts perfectly and returned the naughty grin before turning back to his king.

"Then it shall be so, we will bind without the oath of fealty."

"Granted," said the king, his face belying the joy bubbling beneath his calm exterior. "And your third request, my Lord?"

"My third request is – ," he looked again to his lover, smiled and turned back to the king once more.

"I humbly request one year's leave from military duties. It is my desire to travel to Imladris and submit myself to the healing of Lord Elrond, in the hopes that my health may be returned to me soonest, that I may return to your service and that of the forests and our people."

"That – is heartily granted, Commander. However, we will meet two days hence to discuss the details of your future betrothal and your year of leave. Of your formal request for forgiveness, there will be no mention, for it is unnecessary. Lainion, Aradan, leave us," he commanded.

Their faces dropped in disappointment before leaving the king's offices, they had not been invited to the conversation that would surely ensue, yet they were not offended - they knew that Thranduil would inform them of anything transcendental, when the time was right.

The door clicked shut and Thranduil let out a might breath before turning his formidable blue eyes on his son, who was studying him respectfully.

"Legolas, stand at ease now, my Son. Before I congratulate you as a father, I must – I need to tell you that I feel – "

He paused and turned to the windows, smoothing his hand over his intricately braided hair. Moving to the cabinet on one side, he poured three goblets of wine, taking one in each hand and passing them on to his son and soon to be son-in-law. Walking back, he picked up his own, his mind now a little clearer for what he wished to say.

"I know not what you may or may not know my son, Glorfindel – but when you announced your desire to betroth yourselves, something moved within my mind – something important, of significance so great it concerns the whole of Arda. Something has slipped into place, I would say," he said, now thinking as he spoke, as if piecing together a puzzle. "I think that your union was – much desired by the powers, necessary perhaps so that future events may come to pass. 'Tis almost as if the future has just – become possible. I ramble, I know and yet – I wonder at your thoughts on this matter," he finished, turning almost pleading eyes upon the two warriors.

Glorfindel looked to the floor in thought, but Legolas beamed at his father – the look he knew Legolas would wear when a challenge was at hand.

"Yes – yes you are right, father. There is something so right about this. I can feel it. I love Glorfindel beyond all reason and for that alone it is right, but there is more – I need to ponder it, for I have not foreseen this, and I believe that Glorfindel neither …"

"Indeed, my Lord," began Glorfindel. "However, I have come to the conclusion that this is, perhaps, the reason why I was sent back from Mandos so quickly. The Valar told me nothing of my purpose, and yet recently, there have been strange omens, events that have led me to understand their will, at least in part. I believe that in my service to my lord, my service to King Legolas is inherent – and indeed central to what is to come. I too, ramble, my Lord, yet who would not, before such life-changing moments?"

"Indeed – Lord Glorfindel, I am glad it is not only I who feels it, 'tis true then – great change is coming."

"Yes, that is what I, and Lord Elrond believe. The details are, however, still undefined," said Glorfindel carefully, not wanting to push Legolas too far just yet, but knowing that he would have much light to shed on the many uncertainties. Thranduil seemed to understand as he glanced at Legolas, who now stared off into the distance, as if listening intently.

"Have you regained your mind, my Son? Truly?" asked the king, his eyes boring into his son's, his head cocked to one side.

"Not quite, Father. I have – a way to go yet, but with Lord Elrond's care and, the light of Glorfindel's soul, I will be back," he said, smiling reassuringly.

"With a vengeance, no doubt," added Glorfindel, a wicked smile gracing his hopeful face.

Thranduil set his goblet down and walked until he stood before them, his eyes turning to Glorfindel's joyous face.

"You love him," said the king, his eyes searching those of the legendary warrior of the first age. "And so, I welcome you, Glorfindel of Gondolin and Imladris, into my family, and know that I am most pleased with this match. My people already revere you, as they do my son and they will rejoice.

"And I am honored, King Thranduil, truly. For there is no one in this world or the other, that I could love as I do this – this most extraordinary of elves – forgive me, for I have no words to make you see…"

"I see what you cannot say, Glorfindel, I _do_ know, for I have loved that deeply before."

Glorfindel searched the king's eyes, knowing he was referring to his dead queen, and so he smiled kindly, and dropped his eyes in silent condolence.

A last thought assailed him before Legolas could usher him out of the door, and he turned, deciding to sate his curiosity.

"My Lord?" he said, watching as Thranduil turned to look at him.

"Did you know, … did you realize, my Lord, that Thorondor dwells in the Evergreen Wood?" he asked with an air of innocence that was completely antagonistic to the import of his words.

And yet he received no answer, save for the heavy gaze of the king, and an enigmatic smile on his beautiful face.


	36. Never Again

Chapter 36: Never Again

Legolas stepped into the council chamber and the silence was suddenly absolute, except for the solid, uneven clank of his heavy boots upon the polished stone floors, a testimony to his visible limp. He was robed in kingly attire of velvets and satins, silk and leather. His body was adorned with gold and mithril, his cloak trailing to the floor below, billowing out as he strode into their midst. His pallid face was stern and his under-shadowed eyes gave away nothing of the turmoil he held at bay within, yet showing the pain and suffering that his body still endured. It took away any trace of softness and lent the lord an air of authority and strength that straightened their backs in wary apprehension.

His crown sat upon his intricately braided hair, the tips of which fell to the sides of his hips, where Yaavan jutted imposingly from under his mantle, one hand resting upon the ornate pommel, just over the Valar's words of protection - words etched by Lord Aulë himself, at the behest of his wife.

Yet he stopped most unexpectedly, still only half way to the raised dais where his imposing father sat upon his woodland throne. Turning, he held out one arm and silently heralded the elf that now stepped into the utterly silent Greenwood council chambers for the first time.

The entire Greenwood council stared in disbelieving awe at the living legend, the one their people called 'Golden Sacrifice', and what a marvel he was to behold. _This_ elf had fought a Balrog, had placed himself between utter darkness and his people, had laid down his own life that they may flee, and live. His person had been drawn and painted on uncountable canvasses, tapestries and parchments, a glorious warrior from the first age, returned in the third. He was every Sindarin, Sylvan and Avarin child's model, hero, most favorite of all the historical characters they had studied, and those children were here now, grown into warriors or politicians - and here he was, before them now, as if only now confirming that he had ever existed at all, was more than a magical, mythical warrior from the tales of old.

Legolas smiled beautifully then, as a powerful surge of pride and love suffused every inch of him and he took a deep breath to steady himself, urging Glorfindel to join him at his side to greet the king, together.

Glorfindel strode towards the Crown Prince, his rich calf-length tunic moving elegantly around his booted legs as the light of a thousand candles lit up his golden breastplate and vambraces, in the centre of which was emblazoned a golden flower, the design identical to the one on Legolas' hairclip. His long cloak fanned out behind him to reveal his own legendary sword, lying in wait against his powerful flank.

Reaching Legolas' side, the warrior bowed as the lord nodded, before falling into step as the onlookers too, bowed low at their passing, although they were quick to straighten themselves for they would not miss one second to drink in the sight of them together, for they were observing history, they knew.

They walked slowly now until they stood before the King of Greenwood the Great, who sat commandingly upon his throne, his mighty scepter resting on the floor as his intricately adorned hand caressed the jewels along the shaft. His sharp blue eyes observed his heir and the one that would bind himself to him, and although this council session would be solemn, and difficult, Thranduil allowed himself one subtle expression of utter pride and approval at these two, exemplary warriors and servants of their people.

They both bowed low, receiving a nod in return from the monarch. However, before they sat upon the two chairs that had been prepared on the king's right, Glorfindel broke the protocol and moved away from the throne with a squeeze of his lover's hand. For one terrible moment, Legolas feared that Glorfindel was headed straight for Barathon, yet he did not stop where his cousin now stood quaking in his boots, but towards the guest area and The Company. Their faces showed their delighted surprise and then utter glee, bowing from the waist at this most revered of warriors, now standing before them.

Glorfindel observed them for a moment, bent over in absolute obeisance as they were. This was The Company, he knew. These were Legolas' warriors, the legendary detachment of the southern reaches of the Greenwood, and so as they righted themselves once more, Glorfindel returned the reverent bow to them all collectively, showing them the crown of his golden head. Each and every one of them seemed to grow in height and width, for they felt so very proud then, so valued, such recognition that had been humbly bestowed upon them. As he turned to leave them, he briefly caught sight of Elladan and Melven amongst them, a part of them, and so he nodded in recognition – and approval, if not with a well-veiled jolt of utter surprise at their appearance.

Now back on the dais, he nodded at Legolas, who returned it with a smile of thanks for the thoughtful gesture towards his brothers, 'a leader indeed', he thought.

The Crown Prince now took these final moments of calm to observe the council chamber. All the Greenwood advisors had been requested to attend, and indeed, there were no free seats to be had. The space designated to guests or other dignitaries was also bursting to the brim – Lindo's sister, Forvenniel, Captain Dimaethor with the entire Company behind him, and a hearty number of civilian representatives. Most were there to see that recent events would never again be repeated, for one had lost a brother, and another – a lover. For others, they had lost a friend, a dear companion, and yet all of them had almost lost the Forest Lord, a king, Yavanna's protégé. They sought justice, and assurance that from now on, the ambitions of the few would never dictate over the necessities of the majority.

The powerful chiming of bells from one corner of the great hall, marked the commencement of the day's session, and the quiet murmuring died completely as Aradan stood and made his way to the centre of the forum.

"My Lords, Ladies, people of the Greenwood. Before we discuss the two issues that have brought us here today, our king Thranduil Oropherion has a proclamation he would share with us all," he said in is powerful, orator's voice.

All stood with the king, as Thranduil made his way to the centre of the forum.

"Today's council will be hard for us all, for we are to discuss our responsibility and the consequences of the tragic events of last month, in which one of our greatest warriors lost his life, and our Crown Prince lay close to death. For this reason, I would first give you _glad_ tidings, that we may rejoice if only for a moment, for later will be a time for quiet introspection.

'My beloved son, Legolas, has requested to bond himself to Lord Glorfindel, to which I have given my conditional consent. I present before you, then, the future Prince Consort of Greenwood the Great, Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin, Imladris, and now, of Greenwood."

The hall gasped as one collective organism, before erupting in elated applause, except for Bandorion and Barathon, who remained with their heads bowed to the floor – no one would be witness to the expression of the disgraced prince's face though, for he hid it well, and then, truth be told, no one had thought to look at him, for he stood in shame and imminent judgment; yet _had_ they – had they but peaked at him from the corners of their eyes, they would have been more than a little surprised at what they would see.

Thranduil smiled as he let his people applaud and shout, whoop and cheer, for they were ecstatic – it seemed to the king that his son could not have chosen better, for Glorfindel was indeed a good match, but he was also _male_, and so the hopes of many maids, daughters of the lords of Greenwood, were still intact, for Legolas may be required to sire a child, and hence a princess consort would still be needed.

After a while, Thranduil gestured for silence once more.

"Five years hence, Lord Glorfindel will bind himself to Prince Legolas. Meanwhile, I name you Lord Glorfindel of the Greenwood, that you may serve the good of my people, soon to be yours."

Glorfindel bowed, before answering the king as protocol dictated, his voice loud and authoritative, the voice of a commander, a leader of elves.

"I am honored, my King, and do humbly accept this responsibility. My betrothed represents you all, for he is Sindarin, Sylvan, Noldo and Avari in spirit – he stands for us all, yet more than this he is _loved_ by all, and especially – by me," he said at last, as he turned and looked fondly at his lover, smiling gently.

And the forest rejoiced once more, even wrenching a smile from Legolas, however wretched he felt after so short a time afoot. Glorfindel realized immediately, and gestured for him to sit at his father's side, taking the chair next to him as they waited for the public to calm themselves, and council to commence.

Glorfindel had not yet met the instigators of the tragedy that had befallen the wood elves, for the three weeks that he had been in the Greenwood had been spent together with Legolas, in solitude for most of the time. He was conscious of the fact that they had been shielded by their friends – Elladan, Galdithion, Henian, Llyniel, even The Company according to Legolas, although Glorfindel had strangely not met any of them yet. They had all conspired to give them their privacy, that Legolas have the time he had so desperately needed to find himself once more, at least almost.

And so his eyes scanned the room in search of the two he so wished to identify - Bandorion, co-commander of the Greenwood, and Barathon, his son; brother and nephew of the king respectively. One was responsible for the suffering of his lover, and the death of a legendary warrior, and the other, responsible also in that he had not had the capacity to stop the folly, for incompetent is the leader that shields he who would endanger the lands he was charged with defending. Glorfindel had heard the story from Elladan, but he had not yet broached the subject with Legolas, and Melven could not bring himself to speak of it. Yet what little he had heard had only served to boil his blood and raise his ire, for the arrogance and ignorance, mediocrity and ambition of Barathon who thought himself a mighty warrior – the elf produced in him an all-encompassing sense of – pity.

The Company, now, had not disappointed him at all – no sooner had he arrived in the hall, it had been obvious to him who and where. Fey and strong, tough and hardened to the darkness and its wily ways. Beautiful too, he thought, and yet they could not be for him, not his lover's elves. Pity though, he added to himself. No wonder Hadorion had fallen for one of them, as he himself had fallen for another.

Aradan he already knew from the Spring Festival, and Galdithion of course, who now stood duteously behind Legolas' chair, next to a strange, wiry elf behind the King. He had seen him before and knew he was the monarch's personal guard: 'Avari, for sure,' he mused, and deadly, by the look of him.

His thoughts were interrupted then, as Aradan took the floor once more.

"My Lords, today, we gather to discuss the events that led up to the decree in which Prince Barathon was to be included in the detachment known as The Company, in express disagreement with the criteria of our field commander, Lord Legolas.

'Specifically, I would call on you all to lend your thoughts to the events that led up to the tragic outcome of our, decision, that it may never happen again. Later, it is to be discussed and decided, what sanction should be imposed on Prince Barathon for his breech in military conduct, with the result of death and serious injury. Is this agreeable to you, my King?"

Thranduil's voice answered, loud and authoritative, "It is agreeable," he said simply, now sitting once more.

"Then I will now ask you, my lords, do we have concord in that our decision was ill-advised?"

A sea of hands shot into the air, except in one corner of the forum, where a small group of advisors stubbornly stood, arms fixed at their sides, Draugolë's circle.

"My lord Draugolë, as the only members of the council who disagree, please state your case, that we may understand your reasoning," invited Aradan, with no small amount of trepidation.

"My reasoning, our reasoning," he gestured to his closest allies as he stood, "is that a prince of the realm is expected to collaborate in its defense, is expected to pay service to his people, that this is a right that should not be denied, a _duty _no less. As such, our insistence was justified," finished the councilor, only half convinced of his own words, yet as a politician, he would not let that show, for the stakes were too great, the losses substantial should they be left in evidence.

"There are many ways to serve our people, Lord Draugolë," refuted another council member. "Why did you feel it had to be in the military, and then in _The Company_, no less? Could he not have served as a field warrior, work his way up the ranks? For if I am not mistaken, this is how Lord Legolas earned his own renown, and his station."

"Because a prince of the realm is expected to serve in the most prestigious of detachments - that is what is expected, it is what our people expect, advisor, do you not see? Anything less would make lord Barathon a lesser prince. I do not say it is right, I say only that this is what our people feel, and why we were so adamant."

Aradan faltered here, for Draugolë was right, and so he looked around the chamber, to any that would speak against his reasoning.

It was a warrior who stood then – Dimaethor, who looked to Aradan for permission to speak, which he gladly gave with a nod, his curiosity peaked.

Joining Aradan in the centre of the Forum, the captain bowed first to the king, and then to his commander, Hwindo, and finally, to the entire council, standing firmly before them, his hand upon his sword.

"My Lord Draugolë, whether or not you are right with respect to our people's expectations for their princes, something which I doubt, given Commander Legolas' history, there are other considerations that are far more important. You speak of acting in a way which is expected, yet not once have I heard anything in your arguments to suggest one should act in a way which is logically – _correct_."

Draugolë was about to protest, but was duly silenced by Dima's firmly outstretched arm, his palm facing the councilor in a powerful gesture that he should remain silent, and he was instinctively obeyed, and Glorfindel duly impressed.

"You see the difference, my Lord – is this. If one acts in a way which is expected, one earns respect, one is popular, loved even; the consequences, however, may be disastrous, as has been the case here. But when one acts logically, he may or may not be popular, respected or loved, but he will never, _never_ be responsible for the suffering of others, will never be responsible for the death of another…, and with time, will _always_ be popular, loved and respected. Tis always the bravest path, the path of the leader, to ensure the safety of his people, even unto his own sacrifice."

There was absolute silence as the warrior's words registered in their minds, and if any had had the slightest doubt, now, it had been skillfully waved aside, by a warrior no less. Indeed Draugolë remained silent, for arguing the point would now only serve to work against him, as the answering words and exclamations of those present resounded through the chamber, confirming his decision was the right one. And so, the ambitious councilor held his peace, conceding the point – and defeat, just for now.

Aradan had been armed and ready for nothing less than a full-blown battle of wits and rhetoric, and yet this captain had effectively solved their dissention with one simply phrased yet powerfully presented paragraph; 'Well done' he thought, 'well done indeed', as he put an end to the first point and moved on to the second.

"Then it is agreed, and thus it shall be written in the annals of the Greenwood," said Aradan. "A decree will be prepared for our future consideration, in the hope that a tragedy such as that which has befallen us, will never again be attributed to our own errors.

'Our second point is the sanction that should be imposed on Prince Barathon," announced the chief advisor, turning to his king to continue.

Standing, the monarch floated to the centre of the forum, opening his arms and unfolding the drapes of exquisitely embroidered velvet.

"The events that have brought us together today, involve you all, and as such, I, Thranduil Oropherion, wish to honour the requests of our people - I would hear your words," he said, turning to the crowded guest area of the halls, his eyes searching them for any who would step forward and speak. He was surprised as a blonde female stepped forward.

Forvenniel stood stunned for a moment, not quite believing that she had been bold enough, had moved to the fore to be both seen and heard, participate in the decision of what punishment to give the murderer of her beloved brother. And yet, as the seconds passed, her shock turned into steely resolve, for she had loved him fiercely, had been so proud of him – still was, there was no mercy in her mind for Barathon, and so she breathed deeply, and pronounced but two words as her eyes centered on the one she knew was Barathon.

"Baudh Gwaith!"*

The reaction was immediate, as gasps of shock and even shouts of support sent the whole room into a cacophony of yelling and waving fists. The Company stood silently together, yet the Greenwood, _the Greenwood_ was unleashed in its desire for justice, the justice of the people, Baudh Gwaith – a dual with only one limit – death must not be dealt, yet anything else was valid – it would only stop when the avenging party, or the referee, wished it so.

It was seldom used now, and indeed Thranduil was momentarily thrown, albeit it did not show on his strong face. The Sindar shunned the ancient practice as barbaric, preferring the punishments of imprisonment or banishment. However, the Sylvan and Avari folk held to the tradition in specific circumstances – when the offence concerned not only one, more an offence to the people, such as the stealing of public funds, the death of a public servant, or treason.

The king's predicament was serious, for the Greenwood wanted it, and now, should he deny them, it would appear as biased, for Barathon was his nephew, no less – he must proceed with caution now.

"State your reasoning, Sister," demanded the king, although not unkindly.

"My King," she began, timidly at first, before her grief grew stronger than her timidity. "Lord Legolas spoke in no uncertain terms of the folly of including – Prince Barathon in The Company, recommendations that were waved aside as bias and prejudice. I could place the blame of my brother's death on this very council, that passed the decree for his inclusion, and I _do_…" she emphasized, as her stunning blue eyes roamed over the upper left sector of the forum, to Draugolë and his followers. "And yet Prince Barathon is as guilty, if not more so, for he is an adult, of legal age, capable of taking his own decisions, and yet -," she breathed hard now, as she spoke of emotions she had not yet expressed to anyone else. "And yet, he placed his _own glory_ before the safety of his brothers – tell me, my lords, tell me if I am wrong when I say this heinous act of self adulation, this – the epitome of arrogance and ignorance, is the antithesis of all we in the Greenwood hold to. Tell me if I am wrong when I say that to condone this act in any way is an insult, an affront to all we hold dear. He wanted a place in The Company," she said, her arm pointing accusingly at the warrior that now inched behind his father, "and so now, he must submit himself to the _ways_ of a warrior, Baudh Gwaith – and may it be, that his kin, also responsible for the death of my brother, may serve penance through his suffering - this is my reasoning, and my wish, my King."

'And there it was', thought Thranduil to himself. She had made Baudh Gwaith possible, justifiable, most convincingly so, for the people were with her, and fervently so, yet could he really condone this sentence? Barathon would suffer greatly, both mentally and physically, he was sure, and so would his brother, Bandorion, for he would be made to watch his child's suffering and humiliation. It was a harsh sentence, and yet as he looked into the eyes of all those present, he saw rage, ire, thirst, morbid fascination at what turn the council would take…and as his eyes turned to Legolas, he saw an elf that was pallid, exhausted, visibly ailing, his body hurt him and his mind berated him – he suffered, and suddenly, all pity for Barathon left him once more.

"Who will be your champion, sister?" asked Thranduil, sending the hall into absolute silence once more.

"It is my wish, my King, that Prince Barathon meet Melven Hadorion – Glammohtar."

More uncontrolled expressions of shock echoed around the otherwise silent hall, for surely Barathon stood no chance against one of The Company, albeit he had served for but six months with them. His skill was far inferior, and Glammohtar's motivation would simply give him one more advantage, for Barathon had been responsible for the death of this warrior's lover. The question everyone asked themselves was this: would Glammohtar stay his hand when the time came? Would he show mercy, or would he torture and maim, humiliate beyond redemption?

"Should you accept this responsibility," cautioned the king, "you would be expected to dual with Prince Barathon, serve the people's justice as you see fit. No limits are placed upon you save that of death. Anthing else you or he choose to inflict, is valid. Do you understand the implications, warrior?"

Melven stared in disbelief at the king, for he was being offered the chance to avenge his lover, the chance to beat him senseless, show him for what he was, publically – and his eyes shone at the prospect.

"I understand, my King."

"Do you accept the will of Forvenniel, sister of Lindohtar, and that of the people?" thundered Thranduil, a carefully veiled expression of concern for his nephew lying beneath his cool exterior.

"I _do_, my king," said Melven, his voice strong, determined, avid for the vengeance he so wished for. His eyes shone in anticipation, and he was not the only one, for now, The Company had inadvertently moved to stand behind him, Dimaethor at his shoulder, who had promised to remain silent in the company of Barathon; Ram en' who had broken his own hand to avoid smashing his fist into the prince's face and Pengon who still remembered Barathon's arrogant words to Elladan on the training field. And yet they all remembered Lindo's harsh words at the camp fire, when Barathon had raised the ire of Tui's mother. Her stinging slap had stuck in their minds, as if they themselves had delivered it, and as they stood there together, they were in themselves a statement of intent, of their collective will, and it was clear to all that they would serve the justice their people sought, and their own, immaculate reckoning for the loss of their bard.

"Then it is my wish, that Melven Hadorion - Glammohtar, of The Company, meet Prince Barathon in Baudh Gwaith. As the tradition dictates, no limits will be placed on the participants, except to deal death – all other considerations will be dictated by the heart of the victor," he said solemnly, his gaze coming to rest on Glammohtar's face, and Thranduil's anxiety suddenly rose, for he was not sure that Barathon's integrity would be spared – not at all sure.

Silence now permeated the hall as the king's words registered in their stunned minds. Barathon was a prince of the realm, and yet his own kin had consented to Baudh Gwaith, except for Draugolë and his followers, who simply stared on impassively, as if his had nothing to do with them at all. And if it were at all possible, Thranduil, king of Avarin, Sylvan and Sindarin elves alike, was even more loved and respected than he already was, for he had consented to the wishes of the people, in spite of the personal consequences for him and his family.

As for Glorfindel, the Baudh Gwaith sounded eerily familiar to a Gondolin tradition – it was harsh, and somewhat crude, and yet it served its purpose, ameliorated the people's thirst for justice, and - it was also therapeutic, for it helped the grieving family and friends to find closure, release the pent up feelings of anger and resentment, and if he was honest with himself, he actually missed the simple serving of justice it evoked, favoured it over the long drawn out trials of the Noldor.

Legolas, however, sat impassively. He showed no emotions at all, yet feel them he did. He was not sure that this was the right path, however much he understood Glammohtar and Forvenniel's desire for vengeance, for he himself wished for no less, and yet the Baudh Gwaith was the ultimate humiliation for any warrior, and however much he hated his own cousin at that moment, he could not bring himself to condone it, for Glammohtar could inflict serious injury, incapacitation even, if he so wished. Legolas would, of course, be obliged to watch, for this was the wish of the people and he was commander of its forces, their servant, and so he hardened himself to the facts and closed his eyes as a twinge of pain shot through his side, promptly ending his internal musings.

Barathon was awash in a sea of anguish, for he had never imagined that his penance would be this. Glammohtar would surely torture him, cruelly and painfully, draw it out and make him wail – as the entire Greenwood watched, and mocked, laughed and jeered. 'So heinous had his acts been? Enough to warrant this, the ultimate punishment?' Yet no sooner had he begun to reason out his own question, he realized that he was, only now, truly understanding the magnitude of what he had done. He had precipitated a death, almost two. He had caused agony beyond reason, pushed his commander over the edge of sanity – and now he asked himself if he deserved to be humiliated? Of course he did, and if Glammohtar chose to maim him, it would be no less than what he had inflicted on Lindohtar, as surely as he had killed him with his own hand.

An immense wave of self-loathing hit him then with a force that set his heart to leaping in his chest. Could he do nothing right? Was he condemned to be wrong in everything he did? His life had been useless thus far, and after Baudh Gwaith, it would be worthless.

Barathon's suffering was interrupted by his father's voice as he garnered the attention of the council.

"I beg your attention, my lords, for what I must do now," he said as he moved to stand before the king, Legolas and Glorfindel, the hall silent once more.

"I must confess that when the decree was passed, I took no stance on the matter at all, and that was wrong. I knew my son's skills did not merit his inclusion in The Company, and yet I remained silent, said nothing in the hope that luck would carry him through. Again, I was wrong, but what is unacceptable, is that a commander of the Greenwood place the security of the realm and his warriors, in the hands of luck."

He turned to his nephew then, moving to stand before him. Legolas' eyes strayed to those of his uncle's, and to his horror, Bandorion sunk to his knees and opened his arms to the side in a gesture of pleading and mercy.

"I humbly beg your forgiveness, my Prince, for I have been the cause of the loss of Lindohtar, and almost your own. I am sorry because I failed to heed your wise words, that I did not speak out in defense of your opposition."

Legolas heard him out as he suffered on the inside. This elf was his uncle, his father's brother, and as such he loved him. Yet more than this, Legolas had spent many a memorable day with his uncle – he was a good elf, and yet he had been weak, in this and so many other situations – especially those related to his own son's education under his mate's iron will. He wished him no harm, and yet his responsibility was to his people, and as such he would act as best would benefit the realm, pushing his own fond feelings aside, for they had no place here. Indeed Glorfindel watched him, studied his lover's profile, his stony face of office, his blazing eyes of broiling emotions. 'A leader indeed', he mused.

"Rise, Prince Bandorion. I will not lie and say all is forgotten, for it is not, but I do accept your apology." His face was rigid, no hint of tenderness could be seen nor heard in the tone of his voice. He was cold, and although he saw the disappointment upon his uncle's face, he could not bring himself to reassure him.

Bandorion turned to his king then and kneeled once more.

"My King. I ask that you relinquish my office as Commander of the Greenwood. I have erred most seriously, my judgment has been flawed and my motivations self-centred. I do not deserve this honor, I beg you take it away from me, and bestow it upon one more deserving."

There were hushed expressions of shock from all except the key players, and Thranduil was no exception, as he struggled to quell his own rising emotions of brotherly love.

Standing once more, the imposing monarch addressed his brother. "I will leave that decision to my Commander in Chief, Lord Bandorion…" he said, turning to Legolas, who nodded briskly.

"Commander Bandorion," began Legolas in a tone that Glorfindel had never heard, for it was harsh, commanding, powerful – and ruthless. This was a side to his lover that he had never seen. "It is my desire that you be suspended from the post of Commander and serve a five-year posting in the field in the capacity of captain, after which you may regain your command, if you so wish it. Do you accept my decision?" he asked, his face as cold as it had been from the beginning.

"I know not that I deserve to serve as Captain, my Prince, yet if this is your wish, then I will obey. However," he added hesitantly, his heavy eyes coming to rest first on Legolas, and then on Thranduil, "should my son be – seriously injured, impaired - I would humbly reject the post, and sail, if you will allow it, my King."

Thranduil held his brother's gaze, fighting the urge to embrace him, but he could show no weakness now, not here, and so he simply gave his consent, hoping against hope that his nephew would not be punished beyond his limits, at dawn on the following day.

*Baudh Gwaith: the people's justice. My thanks to the Lizard Council for their help with the term.


	37. Baudh Gwaith

Chapter 37: Baudh Gwaith

Glammohtar stood placidly, in spite of what would follow in but a few, brief moments. No emotions could be read on his blank face, for his grieving had lent him an air of serenity, almost, an inexplicable ability to centre himself, his mind dictating the actions of his body to perfection as it told him what to feel, what to do, _how_ to do it. He was strength, skill, flexibility, velocity – he was precision, determination, righteous avenger, loyal friend, grieving lover. There were other emotions clambering at this mind – begging to be granted entrance, but he would not, _could _not. Vengeance, hatred, wrath, disdain_, cruelty_ – for as Yavanna was his witness he wanted to gouge the eyes from his arrogant face, slice through his ears and cut his face open – and then castrate him, sever his hair and cast it into the wind – and all would be valid in Baudh Gwaith …. No, he could not, for he would then become a monster, one that Lindohtar would never have loved, for love him he _had_.

Ram en' Ondo buckled the leather skirt around his trim waist, arranging the one-sleeved vest and then placing his bracelets over and under his bicep. He then gathered up the long, mahogany locks at each side of his head and pulled them back firmly, braiding the hair tightly until it fell between his shoulder blades, the rest left loose at the back, and as he worked, he observed, as was his duty as a brother.

He had been a warrior for many centuries now, had lived through many experiences, seen and felt things that no elf should ever even imagine. And now, he knew the demons that assailed his brother's mind. He would be vying for control over them – centering himself, meditating, clearing his mind of all that was not usable, pushing back the hatred and bringing the discipline of the elite warrior to the fore. He knew the battle that raged within, and so he remained silent as he honored he who would represent them all today.

Turning him by the shoulders, Glammohtar now stood before the entire company, who watched solemnly as Dimaethor armed him with dagger, short swords and broad sword, before offering him his ring of command. "That I may be present to avenge our brothers," he said solemnly, stepping back to join the rest.

It was Pengon who next stepped forward, placing his armband upon Glammohtar's bare arm. "Wear this as you give him punishment, brother, and return it when you are victorious, for thus will I participate in Baudh Gwaith."

Stepping back, Idhrenohtar approached, placing his own armband next to that of Pengon. "Wear this, as you deal justice – to whatever end," he said carefully, before stepping back.

Koron en' Naur lent his to the already considerable collection that now sat along the entire length of Glammohtar's arm. "Wear it, as you serve his penance," he said, making way for Nanern, who lent him his dagger, for the bracelet would no longer fit – there was no room for it.

Ram en' Ondo held out his outstretched palm, upon which lay a lovely feather. "Place it in your hair, just so," he gestured to the back, where his locks were held together. "Lindo was wont to do this, so wear it then, in remembrance of him."

And he did, sliding the stem into his braided hair, feeling almost, the caress of his lover once more, almost, just as Elladan moved into his line of sight, searching his eyes for any sign of distress, his healer instincts on full alert as his eyes probed and questioned, silently yet unequivocally. A subtle nod told Elladan all he needed to know, and so he fell in with his brothers, behind the placid warrior as he led the way to the outside, and to Baudh Gwaith.

…..

Legolas and Glorfindel stood together quietly, for they were not at ease, but on duty, to Legolas' people, his own people in but five years' time.

Glorfindel had returned to Legolas' suite of rooms after the council meeting, where the prince had suffered a harsh fit of coughing. That had been the start of an unpleasant evening in which he had not been able to control his erratic breathing, and the more he coughed, the more irritated his throat became and the more his side throbbed and ached.

Glorfindel had gone in search of Antien who had returned with him, his bag packed with the ingredients he would need to treat the prince in his rooms. After hours of discomfort, Legolas had finally slept in the soothing arms of his lover, yet it had already been late, and so the prince now stood somewhat painfully, his face too pallid, his eyes too dull, his breathing a little too fast.

The king entered the glade together with Aradan, Lainion, Caladwen and Alastegiel, Legolas' aunt and cousin respectively. The crowd of citizens bowed respectfully to them, until Thranduil came to stop a short distance away from where his son stood. He had tried not to stare, but he had not seen Legolas since yesterday afternoon, and the physical change that had come over him was, worrying, and the hovering presence of Antien just behind confirmed that something had happened. However, he trained his mind on the task before him, and turned to face the crowd.

A few moments later, two figures approached - one tall and muscular, the other shorter and lighter, different indeed, and yet their clothing was almost identical. Plain brown materials, no adornments whatsoever, nothing that showed they were princes of the realm. They stood together, before the king, faces blank, gazes lost somewhere on the horizon.

Thranduil observed them both, wondering what it must feel like, the heart ache his brother suffered, the anxiety his nephew suffered, for in but a few moments, he could lose his very dignity, not to mention the physical harm that Glammohtar would be at liberty to dispense.

Legolas likewise, was thinking the same, and yet he was assailed with a fit of anger, because Barathon was, once more, causing suffering. By his own suffering, he was affecting them all – did they not have enough to worry about, enough darkness to confront? His jaw clenched tightly, and those that knew him well could see his ire, as plainly as they could see his pain and suffering.

It was The Company that now approached, with Glammohtar at the fore, and for all that Glorfindel tried to remember that this was Melven Hadorion of Imladris, he failed miserably – there was not a trace of that elf in the one that now stood before the king. The elf was powerfully built, his bare arm covered in adornments of metal, leather and cloth, offerings from his companions, he assumed, a beautiful feather peeking out from atop his head, the symbolism escaping him, yet lending him a wildness he had come to associate with the Evergreen wood, that place of beauty and strangeness he had only recently come to discover. He looked volatile, dangerous, exotic and sensuous - this was the Screaming Warrior, not Melven, for that elf had disappeared, faded into indifference.

"Prince Barathon, Lieutenant Glammohtar, you are compelled to Baudh Gwaith, for thus is the wish of the people of the Greenwood. The dual sets no limits on weaponry, or on the outcome, save death. The end of Baudh Gwaith also marks the end of any penance due. Is this clear to you both?" asked the king as he watched both elves carefully.

Barathon's voice was surprisingly calm, and as he answered the king – his uncle, and it seemed to Thranduil that there was a spark of love in his eyes then, a soft apology, a fond farewell, and his own expression softened, only for a moment, and yet the emotion persisted behind the mask of kingship, for how could it not – this was his flesh and blood.

It was Dima who shattered the moment, as his powerful voice of command yelled the order to form before their champion, and Legolas' head lifted slightly, knowing what was coming, longing to be a part of it, but he could not, and so he watched on as the Greenwood grew silent and waited for the dance to begin.

Glorfindel had never seen it danced this way, and as they began to shout and chant, kick and swirl, slap and gesture, his body tingled and his muscles tensed, reading the intent behind every stance, every movement was a warning to the darkness he realized, an act of such intimidation to the opponent, and a clambering rallying of courage and strength to those that performed it – it was raw, atavistic, primeval – _effective_… a weapon in itself, and his own lord's son was in the midst of it, as one of them, Rafnohtar they had called him.

'How strange,' thought Glorfindel, for he would never have suspected the customs of his homeland to persist into the third age, for in Gondolin they had had a similar custom. Yet more than this, the whole feeling of the Greenwood, and the Evergreen Wood, was uncannily similar, a feel of the first age, wrapped in the commodities of the third. What little he had seen of this, strange mesh of cultures, had him thoroughly impressed, and eager to learn more, when the time was more propitious to it.

Glorfindel's eyes strayed to Barathon's face, which had dropped to the ground, his face no longer neutral, no longer placid – for he was terrified now, and had his father not taken his elbow and steered him over to one side of the small glade, he thought perhaps that he would falter.

The son was awash in dread, for his reactions were slow, as one lost to shock and incomprehension, and the father played his role, one he knew was fictitious – absurd, yet had he not done so, the son would break before the first blow fell.

Forvenniel walked over to Glammohtar then, standing before him, her glittering eyes searching his, before holding her palm out to him, the glint of gold drawing his attention to the exquisite piece she now held out to him.

"This was commissioned for him, many years ago, when he was baptized with his warrior's name," she explained, a soft smile of remembrance upon her lips. "I know that he would want you to keep it, Glammohtar. Use it to pin your cape and keep you warm, as he would do, were he alive – may it bring the comfort of his embrace to you, in times when his memory troubles you, and when you touch it, always smile in contentment, for the days of beauty you shared."

Glammohtar's eyes had misted at her words, and as he looked down to her outstretched palm, he saw the clip for the first time, a golden lyre. Taking a deep breath, he took the piece carefully and lifted it to his lips, kissing it softly before pinning it high upon his clothed shoulder, nodding at her in thanks, but holding back the smile, the hug, the kiss that he would have offered if the circumstances had been different – but now, he needed to keep that iron grip on his emotions lest they play him foul, and she understood, for she simply left to stand beside The Company, for that, she felt, was her place.

Glammohtar turned to face his opponent, holding his gaze as he centered himself once more, yet he could feel the father's stare upon him, willing him to look at him – he did not, for he knew what he would see – grief, overwhelming sorrow, pleading eyes that begged for mercy, begged him to stay his hand when that inevitable moment came.

And what, he wondered, would the father see in his own avenging eyes? The eyes of the one who would now mete out the justice of the people, his own justice, for Lindohtar and for Legolas. Did he see the agony? The screaming, writhing pain of loss? Did he see the frustration, the incomprehension, the _anger?_ Perhaps, and yet if Bandorion could not see this in his eyes, he would soon see it on the _field_, for Glammohtar was now free, unleashed to do as he saw fit, adrenalin pumping furiously in his veins as the dual finally began.

They stood there in dreaded anticipation - the king and his party, Legolas with Glorfindel, The Company, Balentar and Thandion in wait for what they must do, the citizens who had flocked from near and far, and Bandorion – Bandorion stood alone.

Both warriors moved into the centre, their swords held out before them, saluting each other before stepping back and adopting their stances, as absolute silence reigned…

Lift, slice down and attack, _'clear your mind, do not think.'_

The first clang of metal echoed around the glade as Barathon, surprisingly, made the first move. And yet the defensive move that Glammohtar had used had been so fast, so precise, that the differences between these two warriors was immediately obvious.

Swirl back, swing to front, lunge to side, low stride forward. '_Show your worth_.'

Glammohtar's answering attack was fast, yet it was countered by Barathon, if not somewhat clumsily.

Push back, top strike, '_centre yourself, do not think_.'

Glammohtar had anticipated his half-hearted move, countering it with insulting ease - forward double-slash to distract, attack to right flank. '_For Forvenniel,_' he said to himself, feeling the tip of his sword slice thinly through cloth and skin.

A gasp went up that was promptly quieted, as first blood seeped lazily from the superficial cut that Glammohtar had opened on Barathon's lower chest.

Circle forward, slash on twist, '_stop it – do not think – don't_.'

Again, Glammohtar's answering defense was all too easy, and as Bandorion watched from the sidelines, his breath was now coming hard, wondering when the warrior would end it, for end it he surely would.

Double twist to front, spiral in, disarm, '_you are weak_.'

Another gasp resounded through the citizens then, as Barathon's sword went flying into the surrounding shrubs, leaving him momentarily stunned, yet Glammohtar did not move in – he simply threw his own sword aside and reached back for his long knives, twirling them before his opponent in open invitation for Barathon to do the same.

Barathon swirled his own knives before him, not as fast, not as skilled.

Run, forward flip – side twist, slash to shoulder. '_For Legolas_.'

The crowd hissed as Barathon was cut once more, their eyes riveted on the two warriors now, for Glammohtar played with his prey, and the prince could only defend himself, his attacks weak, inefficient, lacking. The fight was one-sided, and more than one of them found their eyes straying to Draugolë and his followers, wondering how they had ever managed to argue their case.

The superficial cut stang with a vengeance as Barathon felt blood trickle from it. It had been expertly placed, for it would pull every time he used his knives.

Knives up, _up!_ Twist to side, move in, jab to chest, '_what do you want? Why don't you end it_?'

Glammohtar crossed his knives before him, trapping Barathon's and disarming him once more, the weapons flying to the side lines as the people shouted and gasped – surely it was over…

And yet Glammohtar had only just begun, as he threw his own knives behind him, his strong arms now before him. '_Now, you will pay_…'

The warrior walked forwards and took up a stance before Barathon, who answered with his own ready posture.

Feign left, punch to the right. '_For me_,' he shouted to himself, his eyes sparkling dangerously as his fist connected with flesh and bone, striking the prince's cheek bone as hard as he could manage, sending him plummeting to the ground with a moan.

More gasps from the crowd did not manage to bring Glammohtar out of his internal dialogue, as he concentrated on his opponent, who was now moving to his feet once more, his ready stance showing he was not yet beaten, 'good', thought Barathon.

Full turn, leg out, kick to chest. '_For your stupidity_.'

Barathon's breath left him in a whoosh of air as he fell onto all fours, unable to draw in, his diaphragm painfully paralyzed for a few moments before he gasped for air once more, looking up at the warrior towering over him. '_What do you want of me? End it, finish it, for I do not understand you.'_

He pulled himself aloft once more, only to feel Glammohtar's boot to the side of his head, so fast he had not seen it coming. His ear rang and his body lurched to the side as a fist connected with his chest and a seering pain shot through him.

'_For your arrogance, your mediocrity_…' said the warrior to himself, as he kicked his head and then broke a rib. And still, the prince stood once more.

'_I don't understand what you want… what…_' his arm was twisted behind him, crunching sickeningly as his shoulder left its socket and the bone of his forearm splintered.

He knelt piteously, breathing hard as pain assaulted him – his father watching in wide-eyed alarm and all-encompassing pity and a heart-ache so deep it seemed to choke him. '_Stop, please stop'_, he begged, willing the warrior to look at him, to hear his plea, but he would not.

Barathon was hoisted to his feet this time, only to fall back down as a fist connected with his nose, snapping it, bright red blood pouring down his front.

The crowd was now silent, except for the odd flinch and gasp that could not be contained. Some had even turned their backs, showing that for them, justice had already been served, but many others watched on, amongst them the king, the council, Legolas, Glorfindel, and of course, The Company.

Barathon had struggled to his knees now, looking up once more on the face that would now kill him, end his life, for he had been beaten in battle, bodily, had been humiliated before the accusing eyes of the people, and yet the referee simply watched closely, and anger still burned in his tormentor's eyes.

The warrior's eyes narrowed to slits once more as he grabbed the front of Barathon's bloodied tunic with both fists and bringing him before his now angry face, no longer a cool mask of indifference.

"Why!" shouted Glammohtar through clenched teeth, shaking the elf before him.

"It was not my intention…" he got no further as a stinking slap turned his head to the side, before the fists holding him up shook him again, jostling his head back and forth.

"_Why!" _he shouted again, his spittle hitting Barathon in the face."

"My stupidity…" he was cut off once more by a knee to the gut and then to his bent over face, sending him flying backwards, and Glammohtar was over him in a flash, fisting his tunic once more and hoisting him aloft.

"_Why?_" he asked, more softly now as blood gushed from his victim's head, his nose, his split lip and cut brow.

"I cannot…" he was thrown to the ground, landing on all fours as Glammohtar's armored boot kicked him in the chest, again, again, until his fist grabbed at his hair and pulled him up to face him once more.

"_Why!_" he whispered now.

"Because…" Glammohtar shook him, but this time waited for a response.

"_Because I love him_," he whispered so that only Glammohtar could hear, his broken face now looking at the warrior squarely in the face.

"_Because I have always loved him_, _and I was never worth him_."

Glammohtar was taken aback, almost as if he had been struck himself, for of all the things that Barathon could have said, he had never imagined anything like this. Unrequited love, secret yearning and self-loathing… it made sense, and suddenly, the wrath left him, and the throbbing pain of grief replaced it.

"_Who?_" whispered the shocked warrior, dreading the answer that Barathon would give him, "_who do you love_?"

"_Legolas_," he said pitifully, tears springing to his aching eyes.

"You killed my lover, Barathon. You killed him as surely as if with your own hand, you took his life, and with it, my _heart_," he whispered, his own eyes now pooling with tears, his bloodied hands still holding up the beaten prince by his tunic.

"And I am so sorry for it," said Barathon, his words slurring, "I can only offer you my life in penance, for it is the only thing I have left to give," he whispered, sinking to his knees as his tunic was released, and opening his arms painfully to the sides, one higher than the other, pathetic and broken.

His gesture was clear – he was surrendering to Glammohtar, and to life itself. Bandorion trembled in dread, his ears hearing only his own harsh breathing, as the king's head tilted upwards in a desperate attempt to control his feelings, his own son's face an almost exact mirror.

Glammohtar looked then, for the first time, upon Bandorion, his grey eyes penetrating the wide, watery stare of the king's brother. Yes, he had felt his stare before, had not returned it, yet now, in victory, he simply nodded, almost imperceptively, his message clear. Justice has been exacted, and mercy dispensed.

Bandorion drew in a ragged breath as he returned the nod, his eyes straying to his broken son who still knelt upon the grass before Glammohtar, awaiting his destiny.

"You have paid the price, you have confessed your sin, stated its cause. I have no further quarrel with you. But, if you ever hurt me or mine again – doubt not, Prince Barathon, that I will take your life as surely as I spare it this day."

Barathon held his gaze from below, seeing the truth of his words, grateful beyond simple words that it was over, and so he lowered his head and whispered softly to his victor.

"You have my word, I will bother you no more." And with that, Barathon collapsed to the floor, his father running towards him, just as Balentar and Thandion followed him, for Glammohtar had punished him most painfully, and however much they deplored him, they were healers first and foremost, and would not stand the suffering of an elf, not if they could avoid it.

And thus, Barathon was carried away to the halls of healing, his father watching after the healers, as Glammohtar walked towards the king, bowing before him and awaiting his words.

"Lieutenant Glammohtar, you have served the people's justice, and I am – grateful, for your mercy," said Thranduil.

Yet Glammohtar could only nod at the king, for no words came to him, as he moved to stand before Legolas, who nodded, sparing but a few, park words to his friend.

"You have served well," he said, his voice hoarse, a whisper almost.

Again, Glammohtar simply nodded, before setting his eyes on the barracks, and then letting his feet carry him there, his bloody hand straying to the golden lyre upon his shoulder, a placid smile gracing his lips for but a few, scant moments.

Thranduil made his way towards his stunned brother, placing a hand upon his shoulder, yet Bandorion shrugged it off violently, whirling to face the surprised king.

"Leave me be!" he whispered harshly, before repeating himself, softly this time, "leave me be," his voice wavering before he turned, and staggered into the surrounding forests, in search of privacy.

…...

The people had left the glade in but a few minutes, some content with the justice that had been dealt, others, although satisfied, left with a bitter taste in their mouths, for the spectacle had been difficult to behold, for Barathon, prince of the realm, had received the beating of his life, in public.

As soon as Barathon had been carried away, the lords of the realm retired to the king's chambers, where Galion now served the seated elves as the king remained standing before the open windows, overlooking the Evergreen Wood, still attempting to centre himself after the grotesque spectacle of Baudh Gwaith.

Those present were well aware of how Bandorion had shunned Thranduil's attempts to comfort him, and knew that his mood would be – volatile; they would tread with caution, lest he lose his formidable temper – he did not lose it often, but when he did, the very foundations of the fortress would shudder.

Legolas sat stiffly, resisting the constant urge to cough, for he knew that should he start, he would not be able to stop. And then the negativity that coursed through his body did nothing but fuel his anxiety, accelerating his breathing and accentuating his generally poor state of health.

Glorfindel was aware of his suffering, yet little could he do to alleviate it, for all sat in wait for the king to express himself. Elladan, however, as the only healer present, allowed himself the luxury of poking his head out of the door and approaching one of the two guards standing watch.

But minutes later, the guard had returned with a small package that Elladan now carried over to the side-board, pouring its contents into a goblet and adding fresh water from a nearby jug.

Making his way to where Legolas and Glorfindel sat, he handed Glorfindel the goblet, gesturing to Legolas with his head, before moving away once more and sitting next to Aradan.

Glorfindel smiled into the floor before turning to Legolas and handing him the goblet, which he took and sipped, frowning at the bitter taste.

"Well then, it is done, and Prince Barathon has been punished for his offence…" said the king quietly, yet the room had been so silent that all had heard him.

"Indeed, my Lord," replied Aradan, "yet who is to say what will happen now, for it remains to be seen what the reaction of the people will be to him – it will not be easy for him now."

"Precisely, Lord Aradan. I want it clear to all, that the prince has redeemed himself and is not to be harassed, by my express order – he has suffered enough, still is I wager," said the king into his goblet.

"Prince Bandorion too, will need a vote of confidence, for his – demotion – will bring strife to his command – there will be those that will not respect him for it," said Thranduil, still with his back to his guests.

"Then they will answer to _me_," said Legolas coldly. "Disobeying orders is what brought Barathon to Baudh Gwaith, and it will not be tolerated, my Lord."

Thranduil turned at the words of his son, seeing that cold expression on his face once more.

"Of course, Commander, I expect no less of you – when you are in residence, of course."

"I will speak to Commander Gondien and Captain Dimaethor, my King."

"Of course," said the king, turning back to the scenery and remaining silent.

"Well, I will retire, my King, I have many administrative duties to oversee after yesterday's council, if you will excuse me?" asked Aradan.

"Of course, you are all dismissed. Commander – stay for a moment," he ordered, as he gestured to Lainion to retreat to the balcony and give him some privacy.

He had dismissed them all, and as Glorfindel rose to leave, he caught Legolas' eye, nodding reassuringly, before turning to leave together with Elladan.

Alone now, father and son remained where they were, and an uncomfortable silence stretched on, until Thranduil finally turned to contemplate his son.

"Do you still believe I was wrong, my Prince?" he asked, not a hint of fatherly affection in his tone, only formality.

Legolas was momentarily taken aback, for he had not voiced his disapproval of the sentence, it was not his place to do so, yet his father had seen it in his eyes, it seemed.

"I am not sure, my King. I am, indeed, unsure that this was the wisest path."

"State your reasoning," he asked coldly once more.

"My reasoning cannot be based on hindsight – it must be based on the worst case scenario, my King, and although it did not come to pass, Prince Barathon might have been permanently maimed, precipitating either death by grief or his departure to the undying lands, and that is where the gravity does not equate, at least to my mind, at this moment in time."

Thranduil studied his son carefully as he remained seated. He knew well that in other circumstances, he would be standing, gesturing, confronting him, yet there he sat, defending himself against his king's onslaught, and yet there was a chink in his son's reasoning, and he did not hesitate to point it out to him, for Legolas, for all his prowess in battle and diplomacy, still had something to learn from his father.

"You speak of your own feelings, you compare the gravity of one death and one serious injury, with an avenging death, and you deem it unequal – yet what of your people, Commander, what of their feelings, their perspective? Consider this –

'The Greenwood is immersed in a daily battle with darkness. We have held it at bay and yet of late, the battles have become more frequent, the consequences more dire, we lose more and more warriors each year, and the people – have an increasing sense of worry, of anxiety that sooner or later, their warriors will not be able to stave it off – and they will have to move further north – again. And then, along comes an arrogant upstart with delusions of being a great warrior, strutting into the fray, to battle with those they revere most – your warriors, and causes the death of one most beloved, and almost, kills the one that means the most to them – yes – Legolas – _you_… they needed to feel represented in this, because that is the only way they can participate in the fight – show their gratitude – by giving exemplary judgment – Baudh Gwaith – and I, as their ruler, must consider their wishes – their _need,_ for if I do not, I no longer represent them.

'My reasoning can guide them, and it does, but there are times when they must intervene, because this land is theirs, and I am no one to stop them from deciding their own fates…"

Legolas stared wide-eyed at his father, had listened to every impassioned word, and a surge of devotion struck him as hard as the pain that flared in his side once more.

Standing, he bowed to his king, as he spoke his final words to his father that day.

"I promise to consider your words, my King. I have heard them well and will report to you tomorrow without fail – if that is acceptable?" he added, his gaze now tender, and sincere, for he meant what he said. Every word his father had said had been emblazoned in his mind, he had much to think on, and so he moved to leave, wincing involuntarily, and leaving the room under the shrewd eyes of his father.

Lainion watched him leave, before turning back to the king and studying his stony profile.

"You were hard on him, Thranduil."

"I know, Lainion, and yet it was necessary. He would not have broached the subject and yet as my heir, he must understand my reasoning," he said, turning to his friend before breaking into an encouraging smile. "He understands, my friend."

Lainion simply nodded, before turning back to the king.

"He is not well," he said flatly.

"Nay, he is not well, Lainion."


	38. Loose Ends

Chapter 38 Loose Ends

Notes for readers on FFnet.

I am afraid to say this chapter is too explicit for this site, and no amount of editing will render it postable. Please read the chapter over at lotrfanfiction dot com or at Faerie.

Thanks!


	39. Closure

Author's note:

This chapter has been edited to comply with FFnet policy. If you wish to read the full, unadulterated version, please go to / efiction dot esteliel dot de and look for alpha ori in the authors tab. Otherwise you can also read at www dot lotrfanfiction dot com.

Chapter 39: Closure

Everything had been prepared, and tomorrow, they would set out on their journey to Imladris. For some, it was the end of their exchange programme – Elladan, Melven, Eruanna; Balentar, however, had requested to stay, for he knew he was close to making a breakthrough with his anti-toxin for Red Fang poisoning. His request had, of course, been willingly granted by the King of the Greenwood, and by Lord Elrond himself.

For others, it would be only the beginning, for Thandion would see his dream become a reality and study under Elrond of Imladris. Likewise, the Greenwood Lore Master would accompany them, for the existence of the Evergreen Wood had to be documented.

For others, it would be a journey towards healing. Legolas travelled in the hope of accelerating his painfully slow recovery under the Master Healer's hand, and Glorfindel, he had found his own healing in the Evergreen wood. Melven had come to terms with his lover's death, although he still grieved, and would for many years to come. However, it was he who travelled in uncertainty, for he would be leaving his newfound Sylvan friends, would be leaving Lindohtar's home, a place that had given him so much, and his mind was immersed in confusion and turmoil.

The adjustments to the Greenwood military had been substantial, and Gondien was now at the head, Commander of the Greenwood in Legolas' absence, together with Dimaethor who would continue to ride with the company, and commence training for 20 new recruits. As for Bandorion, he took Gondien's placement as captain of the Eastern Detachment, determined to start anew and earn his place in the militia, by merit of his skills, and not his condition as brother to the King.

For Legolas, this year of rest and healing would be the first in over a thousand years. He had never taken so much time away from his princely and military duties – it had never been necessary, and yet now, even _he_ was aware of how utterly useless he would be in a position of such extreme responsibility, with the lives of his people in the balance. It was not only the physical difficulties the wound had left him, but his mental state – he would be incapable of thinking rationally, or indeed fairly, he was too angry, too emotional, too unpredictable.

And thus, on this, the eve of their departure, Legolas now packed the considerable pile of notes he had accumulated over the years, on his project for a joint elven army. It was his plan to share his time between healing and recovering his physical form, and developing the project. It would be paramount for what was to come, and there was no time to lose.

Dinner that evening had been formal. The king had spoken to the people, thanked the exchange candidates for their service, commending them for their many achievements over the past year. He had explained the impending absence of the Crown Prince and the changes that it implied, and had wished much luck and happiness to those that would begin their own adventures on the exchange programme in Imladris. Finally, he had toasted to the future happiness of the heir and his chosen mate, future prince of the realm.

It had been an injection of fresh air, for optimism was finally creeping back into the people, things were looking up once more, the mood no longer dark and foreboding, but merry and hopeful.

Legolas had soon tired, and had left for his rooms to finish packing and take a hot bath, order his thoughts before the long journey. Glorfindel had stayed long enough to comply with protocol, before excusing himself and making his way to Legolas' suite, finding him packing a few final belongings, the smell of herbs and fragrant oils wafting in from the steam-filled bathing room.

"All finished?" he asked, shrugging out of his formal cape and tunic and flinging his boots into one corner.

"I believe so," said Legolas, smiling at his lover invitingly as he slipped out of his silken gown and limped into the wall of fragrant steam, Glorfindel right behind him.

Settling himself on a low stool, the warrior watched as Legolas lowered himself into what was obviously very hot water. He took his time, lying back slowly to adjust to the steamy bath, finally laying back and heaving a mighty sigh.

"Ah but that is so good," he exclaimed in a tired whisper, his eyes sliding half shut as he allowed his tense body to relax itself.

After a long yet comfortable silence, Legolas, apparently asleep, asked Glorfindel a question.

"Are you glad – that we are leaving tomorrow?" he asked softly.

"Glad? I am ecstatic, but only in that we go in search of healing. I am loathe to leave the Greenwood, now that I have been – formally introduced to her."

"You like it here, then?" he asked, just as softly.

"It is – _surprising_, is the first word that comes to me," he began, as he knelt beside the bath tub. "The fortress is of an opulence and complexity I simply had not imagined at all, for I had envisaged it as somewhat more – rustic, bucolic if you will – and yet there is nothing further from the truth," he chuckled as he began to wet Legolas' hair.

"That in itself was surprising, but once inside, looking out over the Evergreen wood – Legolas, I have not the words. It is unbelievable that such a marvel of nature exists and yet is not documented anywhere in the famed library of Imladris, I am sure of it."

"'Tis but a thousand years old, Glorfindel. Its history and development make for a long, fascinating story, one I will tell you, one day – yet our own Lore Master travels with us with this very objective in mind. It was Elladan's initiative and the professor was only too pleased to oblige. I am sure he will get on famously with Elrond and Erestor."

"Oh? and is he – one of your lovers?" he asked tentatively as he began to massage his lover's scalp.

"Nay, he is not my type. He is very conservative, conventional, passionate in his studies but all together too – predictable for my liking."

"Um, the opposite of young Thandion, then. By the Valar, Legolas, how did you find that _gem_?"

Legolas chuckled as he lay back so that Glorfindel could rinse his hair.

"The healing halls are my second home here, Glorfindel," he said somewhat sarcastically. "I was bound to meet him, and then something in his eyes told me he was not your ordinary elf, sexually speaking that is. Yet this, you have already discovered for yourself," he smirked mischievously.

"Oh yes, the young one has a talented mouth, and a penchance for exhibitionism that is most intriguing. I think you and I will take good stock of his abilities, when you are restored to health."

"I mean to, for I made him a promise I intend to keep," said the prince, laying back once more, his hair now clean. His eyes roved over the muscled chest of Glorfindel, before settling on the blue eyes that stared back at him.

"I watched him suck you this morning, and I was – enflamed. I would have fucked him senseless as he worked you, tied his hands and fisted his hair, forcing him down upon you, for that is a game that he and I enjoy so very much…"

"Oh, yes – _yes_, that we must do, yet now, now my love, I – I want you so much yet I do not wish to force you – unless you …"

"Get in – there is room enough for the two of us. I am not able to perform to my usual standards, but I would relish some gentle loving…"

….

There was no moon tonight, and only the lights from inside the fortress illuminated the forest surrounding the base of it. Only the silhouette of tree tops could be seen for miles ahead of him, and a hint of white in the distance, from the still snow-capped mountains on the horizon.

It was beautiful, and he knew that he would be back, soon, together with the Lord of this, hidden realm of trees – they would journey together, explore every cave and outcrop, plain and glade, lake and valley. It would be their sanctuary, just as Legolas was his and he was Legolas' – the Evergreen Wood had wrapped itself around his heart, had wormed its way inside, making a permanent place for itself and he knew that he was lost in it, for it struck him as magical, a place where mythical creatures dwelled, where trees danced of their own accord, home to pumas and panthers and who knew what else? Thorondor's aeries graced the ragged peaks encircling the forests of pine and spruce, and not a soul was to be found there. It lent an air of freedom to the place, raw and unadulterated, nature at its best – _paradise_.

…..

The day dawned bright and sunny, and by the time Legolas and Glorfindel made their way down to the courtyard, it was already teeming with family and friends, well wishers and travelers alike.

Horses pranced as they were loaded with luggage, others whinnied as they were lead from the stables, frolicking in anticipation of the road ahead.

Balentar and Antien stood talking with Thandion, and by the looks of it, they were reminding him of the dos and don'ts for the journey ahead as they handed him a heavy satchel which he passed on to a waiting stable hand, who then loaded it onto the healer's excited horse.

The king stood in his formal robes, conversing with the travelers, thanking them as he was thanked in return. Eruanna had curtsied formally and blushed deeply, just as she had that first day she had met the magnificent king of the Greenwood. She simply could not help it, and so she thanked him for the opportunity she had been given, and promised to send him a signed copy of her Encyclopaedia of International Cooking which she would begin to illustrate once she was back home, perhaps with the help of her lord's apprentices. Thranduil had smiled, cocking his eyebrow at the elf at her side, Calanon the forester. He would be travelling with his lady love, in search of her parent's approval to betroth themselves.

Elladan observed it all as he stood waiting for Galdithion to join them. He spotted Melven then, whom he had not seen since Baudh Gwaith. He looked better, he thought, and he was surprised to see that he had not dressed in his Noldorin attire for the trip back, as he himself was – in fact, he looked more Sylvan than he ever had, for his clothes were new, of browns, greens and blues, leather and suede. A golden lyre sat over his cloak and a falcon's feather was tucked inside his hair at the back – no, not Noldorin, _Sylvan._ As Elladan's eyes strayed a little to the side, he saw a couple who gazed upon his friend with love in their eyes; this must be Taurvantien and Cuilwen, thought Elladan. Melven had talked of them briefly, and Elladan had not wanted to press him for the details.

Glorfindel and Legolas emerged into the bright sunlight, both squinting under the harsh light and instantly giving themselves away, at least to Elladan's critical eye, and he smirked, and rejoiced, because slowly but surely, things were beginning to slip into place. Now, all they had to do was get Legolas back to Imladris as comfortably as possible, and hand him over to his father. However, his smile slipped at the thought, because he knew it would not be easy, because however much Legolas had improved over the past few weeks, it was not enough to make the journey without suffering.

When the moment to say goodbye had finally come, Thranduil had hugged his son quickly, yet somewhat desperately, and Legolas had understood his father, appreciated it even, for had it lasted any longer, both would have suffered. Lainion had simply tapped his forehead to that of his brother's, a smile in his eyes, his face set in a stern grimace. No words passed between them, only understanding, and love.

Minu had been there too, pressing a vial into Legolas' hands before curtsying formally and lowering her head in respect, for she was in public and propriety was paramount.

"Mix one measure to ten of water. It will soothe your mind should it be troubled, and then I hope, you will think of me, for I – will be praying for your return to us – to me…" she had trailed off, somewhat abashed and yet meaning every measured word she had said.

Finally, Henian and Llyn hugged their childhood friend, for they would not be returning with him. Henian was needed as a consequence of the many changes that had been made in the Greenwood militia, and Llyniel would stay with her father, implementing all she had learned from Erestor on the arts of debating and negotiating.

Smiling once more at his friends, he turned to mount up beside Glorfindel, briefly catching glimpse of Bandorion, who stood off to one side, away from the milling crowds. His face seemed inordinately peaceful for one who had suffered through his son's punishment just days previously, and Legolas wondered if he had finally made peace with his brother – he hoped so, for Bandorion was a good elf, he deserved a little happiness, and Legolas hoped he would find it in the welcoming arms of his warriors, out in the field, where friendship and brotherhood are so easily found.

Elladan and Melven's goodbye to their comrades in The Company had been especially hard, for they had fit so well into this warrior culture, had felt such empathy towards the courageous Greenwood troops, and yet especially so to this, cast of extraordinary fighters, and although they now left for their own homeland, this too, would now be a home for them both, and they would be back, would fight at their side once more – both were certain of it.

And yet how little Elladan had anticipated just what his experience in the Greenwood would mean to him now, and indeed later in life. He had learned the true ways of the warrior, had become good, very good, excelling with the sword and in his leadership skills, not to mention his stealth and tracking, hunting and healing – yet more than this he had learned of the darkness and its methods, and as a consequence, he had learned how to combat it.

And so Elladan left the fortress and the surrounding forests, his heart full of love for Galdithion and his forest home, where he had grown so much, where he had found his calling, and where he had made a friend whom he had vowed to follow, for he felt it in his bones – his destiny was with Legolas, and Galdithion, and that sooner, rather than later, he would have to make his final choice.

Two hours later, they passed the road that lead to Love Lake, and the memories of that night came back to Elladan as vividly as if it had been just yesterday. It had been an eye-opener, his first insight into the strange, exotic culture of the Greenwood, and although he had certainly been no virgin, it was almost as if he had lost his virginity, on that, the evening of his Sylvan baptism. He had also had a first glimpse of who Legolas really was, personally, not in his role of leadership, and it had both shocked and surprised him – positively so, and when he thought back on it now, it really had been then, that Elladan had begun to wish for his friendship, for Legolas was the most charismatic elf he had ever met, and was likely to ever meet.

And so he rode along, as his mind delighted him by replaying all those experiences, showing him the wonderful, happy, joyous yet tragic people that made up the multi-cultural Greenwood, those that had created and now nurtured the Evergreen Wood – that marvel of natural beauty that took away the very breath of all that contemplated it. And then he remembered its king, its noble, brave and beautiful king, who ruled the forests in magnanimous justice, consequent to a fault, loving father, fierce leader of a people he loved so well, and that loved him in return for the sacrifices he made.

A fit of giggling snapped him back to the present, observing a radiant Eruanna, who rode beside her Sylvan lover, Aradan's cousin Calanon. He smiled as he watched, for she was no longer that painfully timid young maiden, but a bright, happy and exuberant female, full of life and hope for the future. Her parents would be proud.

Turning his head back to the front, he saw Melven riding alone once more, not for wont of friends, for he had made many in the last year, against the odds. He still wished for solitude, and Elladan felt his smile slip. His unlikely friend still suffered, still mourned, and would continue to do so, he knew. What this would mean for the task his friend had before him once back in Imladris he knew not, for Melven would have to confront his mate, tell her it was over…

He had made it through those first few days with the help of his new Sylvan friends, the two that had succored him that night when he had finally broken down after Legolas' message from Lindo – 'strange,' thought Elladan as he continued to observe, 'that help is so often more acceptable from those that do not know you.'

It seemed suddenly so overwhelmingly clear to Elladan that Melven no longer belonged in Imladris. It was a strange thing to think, for what he based himself on he knew not, except that his friend had fit in so well, just as he himself had – it would be difficult for them both to return to their lives in the Hidden Valley he realized then; they would miss the unforeseeable, miss the fulfillment and satisfaction of service acknowledged, miss the cameradie, miss the open, natural ways, the frenetic merry-making, the pure exaltation of life unveiled from day to day.

The smile was back, and Elladan found himself reaching out to touch the barks of the trees he passed, searching for the braids he knew to be there. He would never have done this a year ago, and yet now, it seemed such a natural thing to do.

Melven himself, however, was unaware of all these thoughts and feelings as he followed his own train of thought. Lindo's passing had taken a heavy toll upon his already compromised heart – he would soon break with she who had been his mate for many centuries, and he would do so as he mourned his lover. Dangerous, he knew, for grief loosens the tongue and he could, inadvertently, hurt her, something he wanted to avoid, for although he no longer loved her, he did respect her, as the mother of his child.

Baudh Gwaith had brought with it an unexpected feeling of closure, leaving him with the hollow empty feeling that grief provoked. However, there was an unresolved issue in order for him to be able to close that door once and for all. Barathon had told him the true reasons of his behavior, and he had been stunned at the revelation – so much so that he had not been able to decide whether or not to tell Legolas what he had learned. He had ultimately decided to wait, for his friend was visibly ailing, and his mental health was faring no better. He would bide his time, and wait for the right moment.

Melven had realized in no uncertain terms that there was no going back, for he had found himself once more, reinvented Melven Hadorion, Glammohtar, the process was irreversible. Lindo would be with him always, and if he should ever forget that, he would caress the golden lyre upon his breast and smile, as Forvenniel had bid him, or stroke his hand over the delicate feather he now wore, tucked inside the braid at the back of his head. One day, they would be together physically – and until then, he knew that where he would always feel more understood, more accepted, was in the Greenwood, with his brothers in The Company, for they reminded him of Lindo, had known him and just like Melven, would always remember him.

Legolas watched Elladan as his horse ambled along at the sedentary pace they had set. He was lost in thought, in his own, silent goodbye – and yet Legolas knew his friend would never be the same elf he had been just one year ago – for he had changed, just as Melven had, and Legolas wondered if there was any going back for his friends. The selfish part of him wished that Elladan would stay by his side, that they would not be parted, and yet logic told him that would be unlikely. But then what of Galdithion? Their relationship seemed to be deep, lasting, surely the two lovers did not mean to live their lives separated? Had they even spoken of it? he wondered… Perhaps not, yet he still had another year to think on it.

There was one on the exchange programme that was missing – healer Balentar, for he had expressed his desire to stay and strive for the elusive anti-toxin to Red Fang poisoning. He had made much progress, and Lindo's tragic death had shed new light on the issue. In his place, an overjoyed Thandion had been granted his wish to study under the master healer and fulfill his life's ambition. He had also been appointed the party's healer, together with Elladan.

….

Glorfindel had been so busy during the day, that it was only once they had set up camp on that first night, that he took the time to observe Elladan and Melven, two who had served as lieutenants under his command in Imladris. Both had been passable warriors, yet there was nothing in them to suggest they would ever achieve anything special, except for Elladan perhaps, who had, from time to time, shown a few glimpses of leadership, but it had never been a sustained effort, and so Glorfindel had not promoted him, somewhat disappointed that Elrond's heir would not achieve excellence in the ways of warfare.

Now, however, was an entirely different matter. He had not been in their company long enough to observe, until now, for no sooner had he arrived in the Greenwood, and he had departed into the Evergreen Wood. Upon their return, he had been but a scant few days at the fortress, before they had ridden out once more.

The first thing that struck him was their physical appearance. It was a transformation that was hard not to notice, for although he had not seen either of them unclad, it was clear that their sheer bulk had grown, and what little he could see of their arms was an unequivocal testimony to the harsh training and battle they had waged. Melven though, was almost unrecognizable, for even his face, his very features had changed dramatically. His hair seemed longer, lusher, his face seemed fairer, more open, honest – attractive even. What stories he would have, he thought, they both would, and there would be time enough for that, he would see to it.

The warmth of one of the various hearths relaxed his limbs somewhat, as he continued his observations. He noticed that their bodies were not the only thing to have changed. Melven worked harder than most as he went about his duties, seeing to the comfort and safety of the others before taking his own rest, even though he was grieving for his lost lover – and he seemed well-loved, he mused, for they smiled at him as they nodded in appreciation of his efforts, to which he would simply bow dutifully before continuing about his business. Elladan, likewise had made himself busy, albeit he was assigned to Legolas' comfort and well-being, together with young Thandion, Antien's apprentice, now a healer in his own right.

Elladan sat mixing herbs as he spoke quietly with Thandion, who listened attentively, nodding now and again, before his head would turn back to look at Legolas, who leant back against the trunk of a tree behind them. He was enamored with Legolas, Glorfindel realized, in spite of his assurances that he understood the nature of his relationship with the crown prince.

Yet it was Elladan who had Glorfindel most impressed. He had become strong, not only physically, but as a warrior and leader, finally free of his brother's unwittingly negative influence on one who strived to excel in warfare. Their separation had been most positive to Elrond's heir. He was self-confident, and an air of wisdom hung about him as had never done before. A surge of pride hit him then, and he vowed to himself that he would now throw himself into his lord's training – as captain perhaps.

….

Legolas rode beside Glorfindel, just behind captain Bercalion, and flanked on both sides by the ten warriors assigned to the task of delivering the party safely to its destination.

The journey out of the forests had been eventful and they had already engaged a small pack of goblins and avoided another larger group. It had been Elladan and Melven who, almost single-handedly, had killed them all, only to turn back to their horses and a mighty cheer from the field warriors that accompanied them. They had simply smiled ruefully and bowed dutifully, and once more, Glorfindel was impressed.

Legolas, however, had managed to stay out of the skirmish – he had not been needed, and even if he had, he knew he was in no condition to fight, unless it was for his life, however he had felt a surge of pride for those he considered his warriors, for they were of The Company, their skill plain for all to see. Through it, Glorfindel had stayed at his side, watchful that no harm came to the one he was now to be betrothed to, much to the delight of Elladan and Galdithion, whose office had been usurped by the zealous lover, not that they minded of course, for he now ambled beside Elladan, talking of this and that, and yet not on the subject they knew they would have to address, sooner of later, for Elladan had made no comments on his choice, they were not betrothed, hadn't even discussed it yet, and Galdithion found himself wondering how he should present himself to the Lord of the Valley.

And of Thandion – he spent his time riding beside Legolas, mixing the herbs he was to take when they stopped and ensuring his relative comfort. Yet for the Forest Lord, there was no longer any comfort to be had, and now, with only a week left of riding, his body ached and his side pounded mercilessly, and as his tiredness increased, his breathing decreased, finding himself constantly short of breath. Of course, he tried to hide it, but he could not fool Glorfindel, or Elladan, or Thandion, in fact he fooled no one except perhaps himself.

Glorfindel rode up as close as he could to Legolas' horse, laying a hand on his thigh.

"Tell me if you wish to stop," he said discretely, but was unfortunately met with a scathing scowl as Legolas replied, just as discretely, if not as gently.

"I will not be the cause of delay, Glorfindel."

"You will be if you fall from your mount," he said pointedly.

Legolas simply ignored him, and by the time they stopped for the night, his face was pallid and gaunt, and his gait uneven, his mouth slightly open in an effort to draw in more breath.

As he sat beside his companions, Legolas drew his cloak tightly around himself, for he felt the cold more acutely in this, weakened state. Elladan held his gaze as he passed him a steaming cup that Thandion had prepared, but today, Elladan had encouraged him to include more pain killers, and Thandion had heartily agreed. They would, however, make him sleep like a baby.

Blowing the hot liquid he took it to his lips and drank willingly. He was no stranger to drugs and tonight, the brew was more bitter than it had been so far. So they were not fooled, he realized, smiling to himself before draining the contents.

"I suppose I should go to sleep, before your brew makes a fool of me," he said somewhat seriously. Elladan and Thandion looked to the floor and when they realized there was nothing further forthcoming, they simply nodded, watching as he walked slowly to his bedroll and lay down.

"He gets progressively worse," murmured Thandion.

"Aye, but that was to be expected, my friend. Let us help him through it, with his pride in tact if that is at all possible," said Elladan, to which Glorfindel nodded and smiled gratefully, bidding them goodnight and laying himself down beside his lover.

He was already asleep, his mouth slightly parted and his eyes firmly shut. Glorfindel reached out his hand and placed it over a cold, pale cheek. 'Just one more week, my love, and I will deliver you to relief and comfort,' he vowed, placing a chaste kiss upon his brow and tucking the regal cloak around the king's inert body.

…

With less than a week left of riding, Legolas had began to suffer in earnest, no longer bothering to try and hide the agony that was now almost paralyzing half of his body, and the blue tinge was back around his eyes and lips. His stare was vacant for most of the time and his irritability grew by the day.

This, in turn, had subdued them all as they could do nothing but watch as the Forest Lord's health began to spiral out of control.

Elladan and Thandion conferred with each other every time they dosed their patient, and were now using strong doses that dulled the pain, and the senses.

That night, Legolas had bedded down before the rest, duly drugged as he was, but tonight, Glorfindel had accompanied him just a few minutes later. Snuggling down beside him, he made to relax himself and sleep, but Legolas surprised him as he turned into his lover's embrace.

"Glorfindel?"

Struggling to wipe the giddy smile from his lips, he answered as measuredly as he was capable of.

"Tell me, my love."

"I cannot ride alone tomorrow – I am at the end of my endurance," he whispered, his words somewhat slurred.

Glorfindel remained silent for a few moments, now struggling with his breaking heart, for to hear Legolas speak of his own weakness, admit that he needed help hurt his soul and his reaction now would be vital to their future relationship – he had to show him that it was alright to admit to weakness, at least to him, he must not show pity, only concern, and strength.

"Alright, I will enjoy the closeness of you," he whispered back, "for I have missed your caress, the nearness of you," he said, as his hand stroked lovingly over the blonde head, now cradled in the crook of his arm. "We will travel faster that way, and get you to Elrond soonest – 'tis a good plan."

"Glorfindel?" he whispered weakly again, "I love you."

This time, the warrior's eyes welled and his breath hitched, for he was so very relieved, and so he tightened his protective hold on his lover's ailing body and rested his own cheek on the crown of his head. And yet his worry had just increased two-fold, for he had sounded so weak, so defeated.

"Sleep, and know that I love you more than my life."


	40. I, Healer

Chapter 40: I, Healer

It was a pleasantly surprised Elladan and Thandion who watched on as Legolas rode before Glorfindel, awake, and yet leaning back on the golden lord's strong chest. He would not speak to anyone, and from time to time his eyes would suddenly shine with their characteristic green mist, only to turn back once more. Those that knew him best, wondered at what _they_ would be saying to him – sending him messages of encouragement, telling him that the path ahead was safe, yet only Legolas knew of what the trees would speak of – him, and Aiwendil perhaps.

As morning turned to afternoon, Legolas had closed his eyes and fallen asleep, and so Glorfindel called the group into a light canter. The day was bright and sunny, yet bitingly cold, and many were those whose eyes strayed to the two blonde warriors who rode towards the head, golden hair streaming behind the general's strong, determined visage, paler, thick silken locks flowing over his shoulder and down the horse's flanks. Their robes of velvet and fur swirled around them, riding up to display their magnificent boots, and the imposing weaponry they carried. Who could not love them? This pair of warriors fair and fey, beautiful beyond comparison, coveted as no others.

However, as some dreamed of things that could never be, Elladan, Galdithion, Thandion and Melven stayed alert, riding close to captain Bercalion, who had had to call his warriors to attention on several occasions, their eyes dreamy, their attention on the centre of the group, and not on their surroundings – these two were a dangerous distraction indeed. He could understand them, however, for they were a sight to see, because although their lord, prince and king was ailing, injured and insensate, the picture they struck was simply and so paradoxically heart-lifting that even he, hardened captain of the Greenwood that he was, was tempted to indulge in a little fantasy.

Somehow, it was the idea they invoked; strength and weakness, beauty and goodness, ferocity and resolve, courage and generosity. All these ideas came together into a crucible of facets which painted a picture so desirable it hurt the heart. Who would not follow them, who would not wish to stay at their side, fight with them, die with them if it came to that? Bercalion knew that in the Greenwood, not one warrior would doubt, and Elrond's heir, Elladan … Bercalion prided himself in being a good judge of character, and he knew that this Noldo loved his lord, as much as the warriors of The Company even, why he was already half Sylvan! he exclaimed to himself as he took in his attire, his adornments, the braids in his hair, the courage in his blood… pity that Galdithion was courting him, for had it not been so, he would have tried his own luck with this Noldo lord.

…..

Afternoon turned to evening and the bright sunlight began to fade as the temperature plummeted. Legolas stirred in the protective arms of his lover, turning his head into his shoulder in search of warmth. Glorfindel smiled before reality came back to him – it was time for rest, food and medicine, and so he looked over to Bercalion who was already raising his hand in a signal to slow their pace, for he had already selected their resting place. However the captain looked to Glorfindel for confirmation that his choice had been wise, for the general knew these lands much better than he did.

With a subtle nod from Glorfindel, Bercalion called a halt and the group dismounted, each going about his duties to secure their perimeter, hunt for food, light fires and see to their mounts.

Glorfindel eased Legolas down into Elladan's waiting arms, who then supported him heavily until they sat in the shelter of a tree. Thandion was already gathering brush for a fire while Glorfindel conferred with Bercalion on the security of the camp and its organization.

Legolas had not protested at all, he simply sat and allowed his lap to be covered by a blanket that Elladan draped over his lap, sparing a quick glance at his pained face before moving to the side and his healer's satchel. Eruanna approached from a neighboring hearth, bending down before the forest lord and placing a soft, sweet kiss upon his lined forehead, smoothing it with her fingers before smiling, and floating away once more, leaving a smiling Elladan looking after her.

He had dozed off, he realized, coming back to himself abruptly as the smell of herbal tea came to him. Reaching for the cup that Elladan offered him, he took it to his lips and blew, watching as his lover approached the hearth from over the brim of the cup.

"Elladan," said Legolas softly, for he had no strength at all, not even in his voice, yet his lifelong friend Galdithion had him worried, and he would remedy it, if it was at all in his power to do so.

"I do not mean to pry, my friend, but Galdithion is worried, and I would wager your own internal dialogue has not allowed you to realize it. I believe he is unsure of his position, with you, before your people, and the closer we draw to your home, the more his insecurity shows."

Elladan was momentarily taken aback, for Legolas was right, he had not noticed at all, so wrapped up in his own thoughts and feelings he had not taken the time to think of anyone but himself. And so, somewhat chagrined, he smiled ruefully before answering his friend.

"Ai but you are observant, even ailing as you are. You are right, I had not noticed, and yet it is logical, is it not. I have not spoken of it with him because… it is convoluted Legolas…"

"You believe that your father will draw false conclusions, that you will cleave to Elvendom because you have a partner, is that not it?"

"Yes, that is exactly it," he answered, sending an exasperated look at Glorfindel, who sat listening silently.

"Tell him, Elladan. Tell Galdithion that you fear to raise your father's hopes."

"It will hurt him, Legolas. I still have not made my choice, in spite of our relationship…"

"Tell him, Elladan, for your silence hurts him more. Tell him you love him, but that love is not the only thing you must consider, for there is duty to consider – he will understand, I know he will…"

Elladan sighed deeply, before raking his hand through his tangled hair. "A bath, I need a bath…" he said, somewhat irritably.

"Yes," said Legolas, watching Elladan carefully, "and baths are so much more fun when they are shared, are they not?" his eyes straying from Glorfindel to Elladan in such a way that it was impossible to tell who he was asking.

Elladan simply smiled as he shook his head in disbelief at this, most insightful of elves.

…..

Elladan had left his cloak and boots at the hearth, and then made his way to the nearby river, his small satchel in his hand. Passing Galdithion's position, he smiled and cocked his head in a gesture for his lover to join him, and so his lover fell into step with him, a question on his face.

"I need a bath, will you help me with my hair?"

An answering smirk was all Elladan needed, and so, arriving at the banks of the rocky river, he delved into his bag, retrieved his bar of soap, and stripped himself, under the avid gaze of Galdithion.

"Join me?" he drawled, now his turn to oggle as his lover shed first his weapons, and then his clothing, wading in behind him and then pushing himself up against Elladan's back, embracing him as he placed a kiss to his enticing neck.

Making way for the questing lips, Elladan enjoyed the shiver of pleasure that ran the entire length of his body, before leaning his head back on the strong shoulder behind him.

"Gal? I would speak to you, on a matter of much importance to me – and you…" he trailed off, waiting for his lover's reaction, which was immediate, for his body tensed as his lips stilled, yet his arms did not move from around his chest.

"Tell me then, Elladan, of what you would speak," he said, dreading the words that would leave his lover's lips, for now that they were close to his home, surely he would tell him they could not show their love in public…

"You know that I love you…"

"Yes, but?"

"But – I still have not made the choice of the Peredhel…"

It took Galdithion a moment to realize the path that Elladan's mind wandered, and a slow but incipient sense of joy assailed him. "You think I would be upset, that I am not enough to tip the balance?" he asked hopefully.

Elladan turned his head to meet his lover's eyes. "Yes, that is exactly what I fear… for it is not as it may seem."

"We have made no vows, Elladan, I understand that…"

"No, you do not, Gal. 'Tis not that I do not love you enough, 'tis that love in itself – is not enough. Until I can see my path clearly before me, I cannot, in all conscience, take that decision. I must wait for my destiny to show its course – only then can I decide which way to turn – can you understand that?"

"Then what is our – status to be, in the eyes of your father, and your people?"

"My worry, Gal, is that if I tell my father the truth about you and I, he will draw false conclusions – and I do not wish that to happen, it will raise his hopes…"

Galdithion exhaled audibly, understanding the problem yet wondering how to solve it. "Aye, I see what you mean. Tell me then, what is that missing piece to the puzzle of your life that you must wait for?" he asked.

"Legolas," he whispered, "Legolas is the missing piece. I do not think I have long to wait, my love, and yet wait I must – _we _must. Can you do that, knowing that for me there is no other, that were it for me, I would proclaim our relationship to the four corners of Arda?"

Galdithion searched Elladan's eyes and saw the sincerity shining unequivocally from the light grey irises of the half elf, and for the first time in almost a month, his uncertainty left him. Yes, he was loved, and now, all he had to do was wait for his friend to make the move that Elladan obviously thought he would.

"I would wait an eternity for you," he whispered, his breath now ghosting over Elladan's neck, "I would do whatever it takes, if for only the hint of a promise of eternity with one such as you, yes I can wait, _will_ wait…"

Elladan turned into Galdithion's arms then, his eyes shining with emotion, so very glad he had broached the subject and soothed his lover's disturbed mind. All the tension left his body then, as he leaned his forehead against Galdithion's peerless brow. "I am so utterly relieved that you understand me, for I would not lose you – ever," he vowed.

"You will not, for whatever path you take, I will be there at the end…"

And thus, Elladan's eyes filled with unshed tears, as he vowed to himself that as soon as his path was made clear to him, he would make it up to this, most extraordinary of elves.

….

Imladris was finally in sight, its beautifully carved facades so elegantly merged with the rocky, mossy cliffs of the valley, the smell of wood fires, wet stone and herbs beginning to dominate over the humid spray they had been breathing for the last day. A surge of relief hit Legolas so hard, as surely as an orc's fist to the nose, and he nearly swooned. Glorfindel, however, was infused with a sense of urgency, hardly taking the time to register that he had been traveling for many weeks, resting only for two, the last of which he had cradled and supported his lover's injured body.

He needed to get him to Elrond soonest, seek his council, then bathe and dress him - put him to bed and stroke his weary brow, for he had suffered silently for the past four days now, to the point that Glorfindel had actually wondered if he would make it, still wondered, as his eyes strayed to Legolas once more, looking for any sign that he would not be able to stand once they arrived – it really was simply a question of time, very little time before he simply shut down – how he was conscious now, for their entrance into Imladris, he did not know, for Elladan and Thandion had drugged him senseless, or at least thought they had, and although his eyes were half-shut, he was alert. Glorfindel had raised the hood of Legolas' cloak to give him a modicum of privacy, and he was strangely reminded of his first arrival just a year before, after the battle in the forests; he had rode in completely shrouded from head to foot, against what protocol dictated.

As they approached the mansion, Glorfindel smiled for the first time in many days, for it was clear to him from a distance that Elrond had not heralded their coming – opting for spontaneity and saving their lover from the mortification of being observed – and pitied.

Clattering into the courtyard, the group of nigh on thirty elves began to dismount as their horses were taken away, a flurry of house servants taking their luggage to their designated rooms, their faces both curious and puzzled, for they soon realized that the lord's son was returned, as was their beloved general, 'why then, had there been no formal welcome?' they wondered.

Elrond stood on the steps together with Erestor and Maeron, the Greenwood's royal healer. He was at a loss as to where to fix his eyes first, for his heir was returned to him, and yet his healer instincts turned his head to the cloaked figure who sat before Glorfindel. He frowned in confusion, for he had expected Legolas to be at least autonomous for the journey, and yet there he sat, obviously incapable of dismounting unaided, as Elladan and Thandion confirmed when they moved to stand beside Glorfindel's horse, raising their arms to steady the prince as he was helped down by Glorfindel. Dismounting himself, Glorfindel was duly impressed that Legolas had not summarily sunk to the ground as soon as his feet were upon it, and so he moved to stand on the other side of his lover, nodding at Thandion and effectively dismissing him.

Erestor watched in sadness as the shrouded elf in the middle put one foot in front of the other, each step a challenge, uncoordinated and clumsy, yet determined. He realized he was out of place here, and so, as much as he wished to take Legolas in his arms and kiss his beautiful face, now was not time, nor the place – now was for the healers who were standing before him, around him, all casting covert glances at Glorfindel and Elladan in silent inquiry that received no answer, save for a subtle nod of the general's blonde head towards the doors of the mansion.

However, once the group were inside, Elrond spoke quietly, his intelligent eyes fixed on Glorfindel.

"Go, bathe and change, you too, Elladan. Let us work with Legolas for a while and then come to us in an hour, I am sure we will have many questions for you."

Both elves were stunned at their lord's words for a moment, uncomprehending almost, until reason came to the fore and they looked to the floor before looking back at the lord, who stood staring at them both. They nodded in unison and walked away, Glorfindel to his rooms and Elladan in search of his twin, leaving Legolas with Elrond and Maeron, a surreptitious Galdithion following a little behind them together with Thandion, who was a little unsure of where he should go, although the Healing Halls seemed as good a bet as any.

"Come," was all the master healer said. Crossing the threshold of the immense healing wing, the other healers and apprentices stood quietly to one side, bowing respectfully to their lord and the patient he had brought, for although they could not seen him, they had been briefed of his identity.

Entering the room that had been carefully prepared, they shut the door as Elrond tilted his head to the bed, silently requesting that Maeron turn it down. He turned to face Legolas then, pushing the hood from his head to reveal the mass of pale hair underneath. He took a moment to take in his features; he was pale, the blood loss still evident after almost three months since he had been injured. His eyes spoke of pain and exhaustion, anger and grief. He had been heavily dosed with herbs for the pain, for his eyes were half-closed and he had said not a word, reduced to a walking spirit, all his strength trained on the physical effort of simply functioning.

Placing his hands on the strong shoulders he made to speak to his lover for the first time in a year, as Legolas placed his palms on Elrond's chest. However the palms slowly turned to weak fists and he began to sink to the ground, an alarmed Maeron running to the now kneeling pair. Legolas bent his head in despair, his hair shielding his face from view.

"Legolas…" called Elrond softly.

"I cannot …" he ground out desperately, his breath now coming in shallow gasps, his eyes half-open, tears leaking from their corners.

"You are exhausted beyond reason, Legolas. Maeron, summon a servant," he ordered.

Poking his head round the door, the healer gestured to a passing apprentice, who bowed and entered the room.

"My Lord!" she exclaimed, taking in the scene before her, the blond elf with his head bowed in defeat as he knelt before Elrond.

"I need hot water for bathing, and food for four, please be quick," he said, effectively, offering no explanations.

Maeron had already picked up a robe and draped it over the bed, before kneeling down beside Legolas.

"Come, child. Let us care for you now – let us help you," he said softly, with all the love his heart held for this his lord, his charge since he had first opened his stunning, prophetic eyes to the world.

"Maeron," whispered Legolas, incapable of further dialogue, and yet so much emotion bubbled below that one, whispered word.

Elrond observed the clench of the healer's jaw, knew the emotions that would be coursing through his veins then, for if it was anything like what he himself was feeling, and he was convinced that it was, then he would be feeling rage at the enemy for reducing this most beauteous paradigm of an elven warrior, into a quivering, agonizing body with a broken mind – incapable of simply holding himself aloft.

Struggling to quell his own rising ire, he nodded at Maeron and they hoisted him up and to the bed, pushing him down until his back touched the crisp white bedding softly.

Elrond sat on one side of the bed, his hand holding on to Legolas' inert arm, while Maeron stuffed another pillow under his shoulders, elevating his patient to ease his labored breathing, yet through it all, Legolas simply stared off into nothing, too exhausted to even protest, let alone talk.

Elrond kissed Legolas softly upon his brow, stroked his cold cheek and asked him to trust him, to which Legolas, silently, consented, as Maeron was, for the first time, witness to the lord's love for his king's heir.

…..

He was still dressed, even though he had fallen into a light doze upon the bed, only half aware of his surroundings and of those that accompanied him in the room. The smell of broth invaded his senses and although he felt atrocious, his mouth watered and his stomach suddenly felt devoid.

Turning his head to the right, he felt the touch of wood against his lips and the smell was back, and so he sucked as best he could, feeling the warm liquid in his mouth, swallowing and savoring the taste of fowl and wild vegetables – it was good, and he wanted more, yet after three mouthfuls, the wretched state of his body told him to stop eating and do what it most needed – shut down and sleep, deeply. As his eyes finally slid shut, he was aware of a heart-felt sigh and a squeeze to his own lax hand – Glorfindel. A cool hand to his brow and the murmur of wise words – "sleep" – 'Elrond', and although he hurt and his mind whirled in chaotic disorder, he allowed a shadow of contentment to shine in his eyes, just for a moment, before a pained grimace wiped it away and his damaged mind flew to oblivion.

…

Galdithion had been relieved of his duty at Legolas' door in the healing wing by a Noldo guard, and he now went in search of Elladan, who was, in turn, looking for his lover. Meeting at the top of the stairs, they greeted one another discretely before walking away towards Elladan's suite of rooms on the next floor up, and yet it had not been discrete enough for Elrohir to miss. He had seen the contained emotions, the glint of desire, of _love_. This was not what his brother had described in his letters, this was much, much more…

Elladan had just bathed, his hair still dripping as he emerged from the bathing room, his waist wrapped in a towel, and thus, Galdithion watched him with hungry eyes. Striding towards his unwitting lover, he took his head in both hands and kissed him demandingly, watching the light grey eyes as they slid half shut in pleasure.

Galdithion was about to rip the towel from his enticing body when a knock sounded at the door.

"Who is it?" he called, somewhat irritated.

"Elrohir – open the door, brother."

The guard looked at Elladan, who was already smiling in defeat, nodding towards the door as he returned to the bathing chamber to dress.

Galdithion opened the door, coming almost nose to nose with a startled Elrohir, who stared back at the tall Sylvan warrior – Galdithion, he remembered.

"Come, sit, and drink a glass with me," invited the Sylvan, moving over to the side board to pour his friend a goblet of wine, including one for Elladan.

Accepting the glass, Elrohir could hold his tongue no longer.

"Where is my brother?" he said, taking a sip and holding the warrior's eyes with his own shrewd grey stare.

"Elladan is in the bathing room," he said most nonchalantly.

"Gal?" asked Elrohir, somewhat saucily, for however many letters his brother had written to them over the past year, he had never, once, mentioned any kind of relationship with anyone.

"Elrohir?" he replied, growing uncomfortable, for he did not know what his lover would have him say.

"Ai, for the love of Yavanna, spit it out… you are – _lovers_?" he asked, somewhat shocked at the prospect.

However, it was Elladan himself who answered as he walked towards them, picking up the remaining goblet of wine and turning towards his twin.

"That we are, Elrohir, do you approve?" he asked softly as he drank, his eyes trained on the identical ones of his brother, poised to read the sincerity of his next words.

After a moment of silence, he smiled softly at first, before it finally turned into a radiant beam, eyes softening, glittering in joy.

"I approve – most heartily, Elladan," he said, as he stood and promptly drew the unwitting guard into a tight embrace.

"Welcome to our family then, brother," he said, slapping him heartily on the back before withdrawing.

The three friends sat before the hearth, settling themselves comfortably as Elladan pondered on where to begin, for he had been somewhat vague in his letters to his family, telling them only that Legolas had been injured, and of the death of Lindohtar. Oh, he had mentioned a relationship but had gone no further, no details and been forthcoming and so Elrohir had been led to believe it was but a passing dalliance – however, _that,_ was not what he saw in this brother's eyes, what he himself had already confirmed. And so, Elrohir settled and Elladan began to tell his twin, the story of his last year away from home, one that had changed him so much, and had given him the greatest of gifts.

…

"Legolas?"

Nothing. Elrond and Maeron had worked silently, first stripping him, and then simply pulling the bedding over his naked body.

Both had stopped midway though when the horrific wound had been bared, both near tears, sharing a knowing glance at each other. 'How was it that he had not died?' It seemed impossible, for the entire left side of his lower chest and upper abdomen was a mass of mangled red flesh, and when they had turned him onto his side, the same could be seen just below his shoulder blade and down to the top of his trim waist.

It was only then, that Elrond realized the magnitude of the task before him. Restore this portend of nature to full health – it would be a challenge equal only to his efforts with Celebrian, efforts that had, ultimately been useless, for she had sailed in search of the healing he had not been able to bring about. He would undertake this challenge with the greatest of motivations, for he loved this elf, and yet more than this he was instrumental to the future of Middle Earth, and to the future of all Elvendom – he could not – _would _not fail.

He had then cast a pleading glance at Maeron, who well knew the relationship that joined them, and so he had left, wrenching a promise from his colleague to call for him when the time for medication came.

Now alone, Elrond stood over the semi-conscious elf, naked under the covers, his long, thick hair strewn around him in orderly disarray. His green eyes remained half-shut, his face worryingly pale, as where his lips, his gums – the blood loss had been severe, and that alone was a serious condition, for it weakened the heart. Yet it was his lung that worried him the most, that, and the state of his battle-weakened mind. Elrond had not had the chance to speak with him, but he would – for Balentar's report had been most precise.

He bent lower, until his head hovered over that of his patient.

"I love you, Legolas. I will succor you," he whispered softly, "I will heal you, ease your suffering. I will bring you back until you stand tall once more, breath the fresh air of freedom and peace, until you shine brighter than you ever did – this I swear before your lady, Yavanna." And then, he closed the gap between them and kissed the immaculate forehead tenderly, closing his troubled grey eyes, savoring the sweetness of this, singular elf, caressing his face, his perfectly arched eyebrow, lowering his forehead to meet the blonde locks of his lover's fair head.

It was then that he placed his ringed hand over the wound for the first time, calling upon the powers inherent in the metal to heal the flesh below… the first of many, for Elrond would need all the help he could get to remedy the damage wrought by the servant of darkness that had pierced him so cruelly.

A few minutes later, Glorfindel returned, smiling tenderly at Elrond as he tended to his lover. Without turning, Elrond began to speak, his eyes never straying from the slumbering elf before him.

"How is it possible, Glorfindel? to endure so much and not succumb? to not turn in bitterness, to the darkness."

Glorfinel could not answer.


	41. Return

Chapter 41: Return

It was warm and his body felt relaxed, no longer in cold-induced tension. His muscles ached and his side sent jabs of pain down to his toes, but he was warm, and his heart was lazy. The feeling of heaviness and dread at the pit of his stomach had dissipated, and now, only a distant, lingering sense of unease remained, as if he had forgotten something of import.

There were elves close by; he could feel the warmth of a body near his head, hear the murmur of voices whispering around the room, the crackle of a fire and the clinking of glass and earthenware jars, the pungent smell of herbs and the trickle of water.

Everything turned a light red and he turned his face slowly to the bright light that had fallen over him. He knew that now would be the time to open his heavy eyes, but with that would come the memories, the suffering, the feeling of uselessness, the heavy throb of anxiety, and the unwanted faces and voices of the past.

He breathed in deeply and the sounds around him ceased, only to start hesitantly once more when he failed to open his eyes. 'Just a little longer,' he said to himself, basking for a few short moments longer in the light and warmth, until a frigid lance of agony cut into his side and took his breath away, forcing his eyes and mouth open.

A warm hand on his brow and words unrecognizable yet so utterly soothing, Elrond, and slowly, the tension left him once more, leaving him tired, yet very much awake.

"Welcome back," murmured Elrond as his eyes bored into the sluggish ones of the elf that had slumbered for nigh on three days.

Legolas tried to enunciate his name, and yet he could not, for his mouth was a barren desert. Another strong hand under his head brought his eyes parallel to Maeron, who also peered into his face inquisitively, the brim of a cup obscuring his face as the cool water trickled into his mouth, down his chin.

It felt so good and his mouth seemed to absorb the liquid like a sponge. Why was he so tired, for surely he had slept long and heavily? His stomach was empty and it made him suddenly queasy, and so he turned his head to the side, for although he was thirsty, parched, the liquid now sat awkwardly in his stomach.

A pillow under his head brought him a little further into reality, and Legolas realized it was morning, brilliant sunshine beaming down onto his bed, a fire in the hearth and a dark-haired elf sitting before it, a steaming mug in his hands – 'Erestor'?

He realized he must have actually whispered his thought, for the head turned towards him and the face broke into a joyous smile as the elf rose and glided to his side, bending and placing a soft kiss upon his cheek.

Another heavy breath and the last vestiges of sleep left him. He dug his elbows into the soft bedding and tried with all his might to raise his body into a more upright position, but he simply could not, he had no strength at all, and so a hand under each arm pulled him up as more pillows were placed behind him, and when he finally lay back, he closed his eyes once more, for the room had tilted nauseatingly.

"Legolas?"

He opened his eyes once more, working his mouth a little before trying once more to produce a coherent sound.

"Elrond," he murmured, and the lord smiled, tentatively at first, and then he beamed. Maeron's face appeared then, and he too, smiled.

"You have slept for three days, Legolas – 'tis time to wake up!"

Three days? Had he said three days? He tried to remember what had happened before but it did not come back to him immediately. He remembered clutching desperately to Elrond's robes before sinking to the ground, he remembered floating down from the horse he rode, together with Glorfindel, and then it all came back to him, their long journey from the Greenwood, the toll it had taken on him, he remembered Elladan and Thandion as they conferred, drugging him progressively stronger as they approached the valley, his own inability to function on his own, he remembered Galdithion's worried glances and Glorfindel's fierce protection, his quiet support, his strong arms. He remembered Melven's downcast head and the grief that radiated from every pore of his body, grief for Lindo – and they were there again, Lindo, Tui, Beria…

Another deep breath, this time to combat the heaviness that had settled upon him anew, and that now characteristic frown set itself on his face once more.

Elrond frowned almost imperceptively, sparing a quick glance at Maeron, whose eyes were now trained on the bedding below, for he had seen the turn in his prince's thoughts as clearly as if they had been spoken.

A knock on the door broke the moment and Glorfindel entered with a tray, followed by Elladan with another. The golden one's eyes bored into his lover's, intense, powerful eyes that seemed to turn him inside out, see behind his imperfections, cast them aside carelessly only to latch onto his soul and feed it, and Legolas smiled sincerely then, wanted to pull him down and drink of him, but his thrice-damned weakness would not allow him even to lift his own arm. Glorfindel's expression softened then, as if understanding the problem, and so he set the tray down on a side table, bending down until their lips touched, and the heaviness lifted once more.

…..

For the next two days, Legolas was confined to bed – sleeping and eating the only activities he was allowed, and truth be told, even had he wanted, he would not have been able to do anything else. Yet on the third day, he felt some strength back in his body, and was now able to sit up on his own, feed himself and even string a few sentences together. And with this small but significant improvement, came the desire to get up and sit amongst the trees…

….

Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor sat in the lord's office on a sunny spring morning, now a week after their emergence from the Greenwood. Legolas, now back on his feet and ready for Elrond's healing, sat in the gardens with Galdithion and Elladan. He was almost always in their presence, or with Glorfindel. Granted he could not walk far and was still confined to the healing halls and the gardens that surrounded them, but he was – slowly but surely – regaining his strength, and his equilibrium.

Strangely, it was only now that the three friends had found a moment alone together, and so Elrond took advantage to draw Glorfindel out, ask him of his desperate journey to the Greenwood, and of his experience there.

"So tell us, Glorfindel, for you have left us wondering for long enough, my friend. Tell us the story, if you will," began Elrond, as he sat back in his winged chair, and settled in for the tale.

"'Tis a long one, Elrond. Strange, complicated, rewarding," he said enigmatically. He smiled mischievously then, as he saw Erestor accommodate himself on the edge of his chair, a character trait that never ceased to amuse him, for it was oddly and paradoxically infantile.

"Well then, perhaps you had better start," drawled Elrond, smirking himself at Erestor's antics, knowing exactly what Glorfindel was thinking.

"Ah, but _where_ – where to begin? On the way, I will tell you that we made excellent time, and yet I wager that for Llyn and Henian it would be the same as with me. Worry and anxiety clouded our vision, there was no appreciation for anything else save for the dangers of the road."

"Well," interjected Elrond, "it is not as if you have never traversed the Greenwood, Glorfindel."

"Ah, but I have not, Elrond. The southern reaches I have never seen, the area they now call Mirkwood. Indeed I have travelled through the western regions but I tell you now, 'tis nothing like the Greenwood proper, my friend – nothing at all…"

Erestor, still perched somewhat precariously, bent forward as he placed a hand on his chin.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the forests are – quite simply – stunning. The beech, elm, willow, redwood, they grow so tall and luscious that only a smattering of sunlight reaches the ground below. There is every shade of green, brown and blue, and huge vines hang from the heights, where many Avarin villages can be found – with difficulty, I will admit, and almost incomprehensibly high up in the boughs."

"It sounds beautiful," said Erestor dreamily.

"Indeed, and yet these are the impressions only of my subconscious mind, for I was deeply troubled, distracted by the dread that had settled in my gut. I would like to return, to appreciate it to its fullest."

"I am sure you will," said Elrond, somewhat prophetically.

"Our approach to the king's abode was frantic, galloping the last few days, for a sense of urgency had taken us all," he smiled then, as he remembered that last day, before they arrived at the fortress, "Henian knew exactly where the guards were stationed, and emitted the most incredible owl hoots – every kind of owl you can imagine, my friends, each with its own meaning, a language of its own almost – I was duly impressed," he said, taking the time to sip on his goblet, noting the expectant silence of his two friends.

"The gates can be seen from afar, mighty doors of solid stone and oak, of a height that would seem impossible, and I wonder at the infrastructure necessary to build them." He sighed in sorrow then, "alas, I had not the time nor inclination to stop and study, ask and learn, although my mind registered even the smallest of details. There are carvings upon the mighty gates, Elrond. Carvings of warriors yet they do not stand in formation – each is different, their stances varied; some hold mighty swords aloft, others draw bows, and others have been depicted in the most spectacular of poses. And yet they all had one thing in common – their _faces_… fierce, courageous, beautiful, determined…these are not the sculptures of random elves, they were warriors once, I am sure…"

"I think perhaps Elladan will be able to regale you with the details. I tell you only this; it is surprising – far beyond my expectations, larger and much more populated than any other elven realm, including Gondolin – and children, many _children_…" he said in wonder.

He took a deep breath then, giving himself a moment to look at his lovers, surprised to see that both of them were looking at him expectantly. He had skirted around the real issue, he knew, yet it was the only way to centre himself for the telling, and so he looked to the floor before starting again.

"When I first saw him, he was sitting on the balcony of his rooms in the company of Thranduil, Aradan and a guard I later discovered to be called Lainion, one who professes brotherhood with Legolas. He must have heard me, but moved not, showed no response whatsoever to my presence. He simply sat and stared over the landscape, lost in his own world of pain and suffering," he whispered as his eyes misted.

"What triggered it?" asked Elrond. "What was it that tipped the balance?" he asked softly.

"Centuries of battle and hardship, on a scale that is hard to imagine - of loss and heartbreak, year after year of exposure to the darkness that reigns in the southern regions, life after life taken as _Sîdhoneth_…" he emphasized as his eyes strayed to the infinite.

Both Elrond and Erestor sucked in their breath, for they knew what it was, knew the strength needed to perform such an act and the consequences it brought to the soul.

"And yet, a recent spiral of enemy activity had caused the death of a member of The Company, under the duress of torture, together with Legolas and Elladan."

"They were _tortured_?" asked a disbelieving Elrond.

"I gather so, yes, I do not have the details, Elrond, you must ask Elladan of it, 'tis perhaps not the right time to question Legolas."

"I will, of course, but go on."

"Well, during that time, he was forced to act as Sîdhoneth, and then shortly after, gravely injured as a result of his own cousin's stupidity and ambition, a Red Fang attack close to the fortress. All this, Elrond, the weakened state of his body affected the strength of his mind and he could no longer overcome the grief, the anxiety; the strength required to keep others going simply left him."

"Yes, yes, it makes sense, and yet you brought him back. How…?"

"I took him into the Evergreen Wood," he held up his palms in a request to continue, for he had seen their intentions of asking him what he was talking about. "The Evergreen Wood is not in the Greenwood, but _behind_ it… Of this place I _can_ speak, for we two roamed it for weeks, in quiet solitude and introspection," he said as his head tilted back, his mind conjuring those images once more. "I saw great pumas perched on rocky outcrops, strange trees that glisten in the darkness, lakes of crystal glass and valleys of lush green where eagles soar - I have not the words…" he whispered, as he stared off into nothing, as if seeing that place once more, an awed smile upon his face. "When we finally emerged – I do not say he was cured, but he was on the right road, for we two came to understand _– things_ - …" he trailed off, unable to put into words the events of those final days in that glorious place, and the events of the day after their arrival at the fortress.

"There will be time enough for the details, Glorfindel," said Elrond softly as he watched his friend carefully. There was more, much more, but he did not want to press him, for he seemed deeply moved by his visit, and so he stood and then kneeled before the golden warrior, taking his chin and moving his head to face him, and in his eyes, those bright blue eyes, he saw wonder, love and – for the first time since he had known Glorfindel – he saw _peace_.

"You have failed to tell us one important thing, Glorfindel," he said, bringing Erestor to his side as they both now looked at Glorfindel, and Elrond spoke once more.

"You failed to tell us that you, too, have found healing."

"I have found more than that, my friends. I have found my destiny, and I am betrothed," he said solemnly, watching their faces carefully before adding, "without the oath of fealty," with a victorious smile upon his lips.

Elrond's eyes closed to steady himself, and only now did he allow himself to smile, before taking Glorfindel into his arms and congratulating him as Erestor joined them, he too relieved beyond words – nothing had changed, and yet everything was different.

…..

It took another week for Legolas to return to the state he had been in before the journey, and both Elrond and Erestor's curiosity had been severely peaked by Glorfindel, for he had given but the most basic of details, and yet it had been enough to unleash their innate tendency towards intellectual study. All they knew now, was that Legolas would be well once more, at least mentally, and yet they had also been left with the surety that their lover was much more than even _they _had imagined, that his homeland was not the ragged, orc-infested forest of Sindarin-ruled Sylvan and Avarin savages they had been brought up to believe, but a land of beauty and mystery they now set out to learn more of.

And then, Elrond could not forget that strange day of visions, both of foreboding and portends of the future – for it had coincided almost exactly with Legolas' wounding by the Red Fang, as if those visions of the future had come into peril of a sudden. This only served to confirm what Elrond already thought he knew. Legolas was their future, in some way that had not, as yet, unraveled itself, at least not entirely.

However, Elrond was an elf with many resources - he knew where he would find the information he sought and so, leaving Erestor in the library with the Greenwood's own lore master, he ambled into the gardens of the healing wing, finding the group of friends conversing under an oak tree, the remnants of a picnic on the ground before them. Elladan was sitting close to Legolas, who reclined against the trunk, wrapped in a blanket and with Galdithion on his other side. 'Staunch defenders indeed,' he thought to himself as he approached.

His arrival silenced their quiet conversation and they turned expectantly towards him.

"Good afternoon, my friends. Enjoying the afternoon sun?" he asked pleasantly, as his healer's eyes strayed to Legolas, noting that he looked slightly better today, thinking that he might even release him later.

"Indeed, my Lord," began Galdithion. "'Tis frigid cold in the Greenwood, yet here it is pleasantly warm under the sun," he smiled – beautifully, thought Elrond, noting how Elladan was watching the guard from the corner of his eye.

"And where would my wayward general be?"

"He has just left for the library, my Lord, searching for tomes that Legolas has requested," said Galdithion, an amused smirk on his face, hinting at some joke they shared.

"Elladan, I would speak with you, my son," he said, holding his heir's gaze meaningfully, a gesture that Elladan understood perfectly, and so he stood, bowed dutifully to Legolas and nodded fondly at Galdithion.

"I will catch you later, my friends," was all he said as he fell into step with his father, who he knew was still watching him as they walked.

"Why did you bow to Legolas, in such an informal setting?" he asked, watching his son carefully.

After a moment of contemplative silence, Elladan returned his father's stare, surprising him for a moment before he mastered it, for his son's eyes held the light of experience – and the weight that comes with wisdom.

"It is the natural thing for me to do, Father. I know that protocol would not require it of me, and yet my heart dictates my actions."

Elrond thought on the words as they arrived at his study, for he had acted thusly many years ago, a consequence of his own devotion and love for Gil-Galad. Ushering his son inside and closing the door firmly behind them, the lord gestured to his son to sit as he passed him a goblet of crisp white wine that stood on the side table.

"I would hear your report, my son."

It was Elladan who scrutinized his father now. It was no mere report that he required, but _details_, of things Glorfindel would surely already have told him.

"I would start the recounting with an admission, father; one I think is vital to your understanding of what I have to tell you."

Again, Elrond was taken back, for he had expected his son to dive into a detailed panegyric of his one year's service in the Greenwood with boyish passion, and yet this strong, wise warrior stared back at him, one that suddenly and acutely reminded him of Elros, causing his heart to lurch in his chest at what that sudden thought might imply.

"You have changed, Elladan," he murmured, unable to take his eyes away from his son, as if he were seeing him for the first time, for there were so many details to take in, so many questions.

"Oh _aye_, I have changed," he assured his father. "I have learned the ways of the warrior, I have learned of friendship and service, duty and hardship. I have learned of darkness, the very _nature_ of it – and I have learned of myself – who I am, and what my purpose is…"

Elrond felt uneasy, deeply so, for his son's tone hinted at great revelations and he was unsure he would like the nature of them. He had summoned his son here to gain information, piece together the missing blocks in the story, and yet it was Elladan who was now guiding the conversation.

"Will you tell me then, of these things?" he asked the enigmatic warrior before him as he turned and walked to the open balcony.

"I will," he smiled, "I _must_," he said again, as the smile slipped just a little, following his father onto the balcony.

Elrond drank deeply of his wine, his veiled anxiety heightening once more, yet before Elladan could begin, he asked a question of his own.

"Can you _feel_ it? Do you feel what I do, Elladan?"

Elladan turned to study his father's profile, before answering as best he could. "I believe I do. I never thought I would possess your gift, Father, I never thought I would perceive the future, and yet – and yet I believe that I _have_. I know that change on a scale I have never seen is coming; I know that that change has everything to do with Legolas, and … that I am a part of it," he said as he trained his eyes on those of his father's, who had now turned to meet his son's gaze in stunned silence, for he dare not speak, and yet he would burst if he did not.

"What do you mean…?" whispered Elrond, sounding suddenly helpless to his own ears.

"I mean, Father, that in my service to you, and to what I now believe my destiny to be, I must serve the Forest Lord, follow him and walk the path that is set before me – laid out so clearly before my eyes, one I have only recently discovered."

Elrond's eyes closed of their own accord, in sorrow at the loss of his son, yet in defeated confirmation. He had known that he could not tether this son to their realm, keep him safe, for unlike Elrohir, his heir was a warrior, had always been at heart, and was now, in mind and body. He felt the need to be where the fight would be, in the midst of it, just as he himself had so many years ago.

"And what of your choice, Elladan?" asked the lord as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Elladan smiled as his eyes stared into nothing, remembering that day when he had sworn undying friendship to Legolas, on their first foray into the Mirkwood.

"I once said something strange to Legolas, almost a year ago now. I told him he had my undying friendship. I knew he was taken aback and humbled by my confession, and so he sought to lighten the mood. '_Strange words from one whose choice is yet before him_,' he said. I felt foolish at the time, and yet in hindsight I realize I was not, for I spoke truly," he said, now turning to fully face his father, his heavy gaze falling on round, hope-filled eyes, eyes which shone with a light that was new, his face seeming suddenly less stern, for a flicker of hope was back, after so many years.

"I choose to live eternally, should I live or die through that which is to come, I will still exist – here, in Aman, or in Mandos."

Elrond could no longer keep up the façade, and so he closed what little space there was between them and clutched at his child's tunic, before pulling him towards him, crushing his body desperately against the father's heaving chest as he lay his head over the long locks of his first born.

"When you told me you wished to follow him, I thought I had lost you, and yet 'tis the opposite – for I now have you for eternity and it fills my heart to the brim, Elladan. By the Valar, I am so proud of you, of what you have become," he whispered now, unable to keep his voice from wavering under the onslaught of such joy.

For Elladan, that last sentence had meant so much. He had never felt deserving of his father's pride, and yet now, now it suffused him with love and resolve, on this the path that he had chosen – for even before he came to realize that he loved Galdithion, he had, inadvertently cleaved to Elvendom, for his friend Legolas and the path that lay before them, one they would walk together.

They spent the rest of the afternoon together. Elladan eventually told his father of all that had transpired, of the Greenwood, of the Evergreen Wood, and dutifully answered his father's many and varied questions.

He had asked his father not to speak of his choice until he had been able to tell Elrohir and Galdithion of his decision. Of course one thing led to another and Elladan had then explained the nature of his relationship with Legolas' guard, no longer holding back the details, for his choice was made – rather his choices, for he wanted Galdithion at his side, as his bonded mate, and told his father as much.

It took no convincing at all for the Elven lord to give his consent, and before Elladan left his father's rooms in search of his brother, Elrond spoke one last time.

"You must plead formally for eternity, Elladan, in two days hence."

Elladan smiled, yet his heart sank to his boots, for he really hadn't the slightest inkling of what it entailed, how to go about it. Nevertheless, it had to be done, and so he bowed formally, smiled, and left in search of his friends, his step just a little lighter, his smile a little wider, and his mind – a little more determined.

…..

That evening, Elrond walked into Legolas' room in the healing wing, finding him sitting atop his bed, sheet upon sheet of paper before him. He was so immersed in what he was writing that he failed to mark the lord's entrance, visibly starting when Elrond broke the silence.

"What are you writing?"

"Aye, Elrond, you startled me!" he said, placing his own hand upon his racing heart, before turning his head and coughing.

"Forgive me," said Elrond, as he approached the bed and sat in the chair beside it. "So what is it?"

"It is my project, Elrond, my proposal for a joint elven army. I wish to finish it before I leave, that it may be implemented soonest – if it is approved, of course," he added with a flourish of his hand.

Elrond smiled, because his lover was truly absorbed in his work, and that was not the way of one who grieved, depression did not lead to enthusiasm, and Legolas was definitely more than a little motivated.

"May I?" asked Elrond as he picked up one of the papers.

A wave of a hand was all he received as Legolas continued to scribble, and so the lord brought the paper closer to his eyes.

It was covered in hastily scrawled notes, calculations and diagrams, page after page of organizational notes, schemas, notes on logistics, on training – it was only now he began to realize how advanced the study already was –

"You seem to see the need for haste…" he prompted, without taking his eyes from the paper.

Legolas did look up then, before answering, his face leaving no trace of doubt. "I do, Elrond, and so, I think, do you; is that not so?" he challenged.

Elrond did meet his gaze then, before smiling sadly. "Yes, yes I do. I can feel it, and so can Galadriel, I think. You do well to set this in motion now, while you can – yet what of your father? For surely this endeavor will keep you away from your own battle."

"My own battle… is no longer reduced to the Greenwood, Elrond. Change comes, and with it, we must all move the pieces, play our hands with the advantages we have."

He sighed as he raked a hand through his loose hair. "My father feels it too, will want me to stay, but I do not think he will put the needs of the few before the needs of the many. When Yavanna first came to me, he knew what that meant…" he trailed off, now looking off, beyond the window of his room.

Glorfindel entered then, his arms full of books of varying shapes and sizes. He placed them on the bed before he turned to wash his dust-filled hands, sneezing hard as he did so and sending another cloud of dust into the air. Elrond smiled before his eyes strayed to the books, reading their titles. 'On Military Tactics of the First Age,' 'An Analysis of Battle', 'On Human Warfare', 'Nirnaeth Arnoediad,'… the list went on –

Legolas reached for a heavy tome, and a sharp pain ripped through his side, making him moan miserably, his arm falling to the bed.

"Legolas, if you sit cross-legged like that with a wound like yours, what do you expect, hum?" he asked as he rose and gestured to the papers that surrounded the now miserable elf.

Collecting them, placing them in order and then straightening them up, Legolas placed them to one side and unfolded his long legs, sighing as he muscles ached and protested.

"Lay back a moment," said Elrond, after he had pulled the pillows further up, allowing the lord to lean back comfortably.

Placing a flat palm over the wound and leaving it there, Elrond continued to instruct his patient. "Now, I came to tell you that you can leave the healing wing tomorrow, IF you promise to follow my orders, to the letter, Legolas."

Legolas felt a soft tingling where before there had been pain, smiling ruefully and allowing some of his old self to shine in his eyes as he replied. "I promise, Elrond, truly."

"Good, now, food, medication and rest, Legolas."

Legolas resisted the urge to complain that he was not tired, and nearly guffawed at himself for his puerile behavior. A quick glance at the master healer told him that he too, had found the situation amusing.

However, he turned serious once more for the question he would now ask.

"Elrond? Can you not tell me _anything_? Do you know if anything can be done for me?" he asked tentatively. Truth be told he had wanted to ask the question many days ago, but he had not felt well, and the time had simply not been right. But he had been here for two weeks now, and so he waited for an answer to his question.

Glorfindel had tuned in on the conversation and now sat in quiet expectation of Elrond's words, knowing how vital they would be to Legolas' mental recuperation.

"Well, I have seen an improvement in your breathing in relatively little time. I think perhaps from tomorrow, you can start to take some light exercise, and we can take it from there, yes?"

A deep sigh was the only answer he received.

Elrond understood, for one such as Legolas was sorely tested by being confined, he mused as he turned to leave, his eyes straying for just a moment to the large brown tome he had had a glimpse of before – 'Maedhros,' he whispered to himself – 'Valar, do not let it happen again,' he pleaded.


	42. This Is My Choice

Chapter 42: This is My Choice

The following day, Legolas sat under a tree, this time in Celebrian's now vibrant garden, which was coming to life with the advent of spring, the sentinel at his back singing its deep, echoing song of welcome and healing, for it still remembered the promise of eternity the Forest Lord had once pledged.

His belongings were being transferred to a suite of rooms on the ground floor, for climbing stairs was still 'strenuous exercise' for the wounded warrior. He was, however, more hopeful than he had been in a long time, and although by no means back to full health, he could at least hold to the fact that he was able, in spite of the constant discomfort, to move, walk, be autonomous, at least in his day to day activities, so long as nothing out of the ordinary happened. There was a long and arduous road before him, this he knew, but that was simply one more trial that life had placed before him, and he would take it as a challenge, just as he did so many other things in his life.

He had finally been released, with the promise that he submit himself to Elrond's directives, to which he had more than happily acquiesced, and thus he sat now, a blanket draped over him to stave off the constant chill he felt, a lingering result of blood loss, as the healers had explained to him.

There were books everywhere, and Legolas now sat in deep conversation with Elladan and Glorfindel on the subject of military organization, at least that is what he thought. A pensive Galdithion sat at his friends' side, yet his mind wandered the paths of conjecture and what ifs, as Elladan observed him surreptitiously, now only with half his attention on the conversation at hand.

Elladan's lover was off duty, and as such, wore his civilian attire – his chestnut hair falling loose around him, an earring gracing his left lobe and his open shirt, enticing as it teased the onlooker with just a hint of muscled chest and abdomen. His body was devoid of the many weapons he almost always wore, at least visibly, for no sensible wood elf went completely unarmed, and Galdithion was a royal bodyguard. Yet today he was off duty, childhood friend to the Forest Lord, the one some already hailed as king.

Elladan's mind was betraying him; military tactics now completely forgotten, his eyes roved over the tall, lithe warrior as his mind provided him with images of what would be a most appetizing plan for the rest of the day. However, his lusty thoughts were cut short all too soon as Elrond and Erestor came upon them quite by accident, they too, immersed in their own conversation.

"Elrond, Erestor, will you join us?" called Legolas, gesturing for them to sit.

"What are you discussing?" asked Elrond curiously as both sank to their knees upon the soft lawn, Erestor momentarily reaching out to put the misplaced blanket back over Legolas' lap.

"Military tactics," began Glorfindel, the spark of enthusiasm in his eyes as he continued to read a paper that Legolas had been working on, squinting at the margin notes.

Elrond had had a glimpse of the scale of what Legolas proposed to achieve – no easy task, for there would be much diplomacy and negotiating on the horizon – he knew, for he had lived through the planning of the Last Alliance, had been an active part of it.

"We are discussing the numbers we initially need to implement the project," explained Elladan, trying to hide the fact that he had lost track, and earning himself a smirk from Glorfindel.

"I would say we need to establish a quota of some sorts, perhaps a ratio of warriors from each of the three major armies, and then extend invitations to the other realms," added Legolas. The monetary remuneration would be equal to the assignment, of course, as would the distribution of the positions of command.

"That will not be easy," interjected Glorfindel. Your own homeland is harder and harder pressed, and I would wager that Lothlorien is on the same road, they will be reluctant to comply with any imposition; funds, mayhap.

"And yet they must be convinced, Glorfindel, 'tis the only way…, we must show them that they could count on the army, should they need our help; we would ride to their aid if it were needed – our enclave would be strategically placed – that we could ride in good time when we are called for."

"You will do it, Legolas, I know you will," said Elladan, his face alight in convinced determination, and Legolas looked at him then, an odd sensation coming over him, yet the moment was broken as Elrond spoke once more.

"When you are well enough, we will hold formal talks, Legolas, for you will want our explicit recognition of the new army, and I will not give it lightly, as you know."

"Aye, and it is well that you do not, Elrond. I would have Imladris and Lothlorien fully convinced of its necessity, for anything less will render it unviable. And then, you yourself have so much to contribute, do you not? For you stood at Ereinion's shoulder while the final battle was being planned, watched as my grandfather erred and took almost half our own militia with him to the gates of Mandos. _I _am counting on your wisdom, Elrond," he said meaningfully, the surreptitious message clear to the Lord of Imladris, '_I will not make the same mistake_…'

"And you will have it, of course, for I could not council your grandfather on that fatidic day."

Elrond sighed deeply, tucking the memory of that fierce, stubborn, stunning blond warrior away, for Legolas looked so much like him, and he suddenly found himself swearing he would not let their fates be identical, he would give all that he was to ensure it. And yet he knew in his heart that Legolas was as different as he was similar to his grandfather. Oropher was effusive, passionate, impulsive, and this, together with his unfortunate lack of humility, had lead him to defeat, and his people almost to ruin.

Finding his balance once more, he glanced for the third time at his son, trying to gauge whether he had told his lover and his friends of his choice, but try as he might, he could not quite decide. He wished to broach the subject but did not want to hurt anyone's feelings, especially young Galdithion, for he would feel he had been left out, the last to know of his lover's plans, and so he decided on caution, for there really was no rush.

"Elrond, I have been meaning to ask, how is young healer Thandion settling in?" asked Legolas, ripping his eyes away from the book in his hands as he turned to the healer, "I have not seen him since our arrival."

"Most satisfactorily, Legolas. I have rarely seen a more enthusiastic healer. He refuses to rest and eat, anchoring himself at my side or together with Maeron. His is quick to learn and eager to please, the mixture is perfect – he will do well."

"Good, I am pleased. He is a good friend, Elrond," said Legolas meaningfully, to which Elrond arched an eyebrow, wondering if he was reading too much into that last comment.

"Well now, talking of healing halls, I really must leave. Maeron is departing soon with the other exchange elves, and we have much to discuss. I will see you all for lunch, I trust?"

"Of course," they replied, and yet Elrond had one more thing to add before he left together with Erestor.

"Legolas – remember your routine – do not skip your treatments for I will find out…" he said, his eyes boring into the stunning green irises of the Forest Lord.

"I could not forget, willingly or otherwise, for I would have a wrathful Gondolin lord breathing fire down my neck if I did – there is no danger, Elrond."

"Good," he said without turning, already making for the Halls of Healing.

Elladan was cursing himself for not having found the time to speak to Galdithion about his choice, for he had suffered through that last conversation, wondering if his father would take it for granted that he had spoken to his friends and lover of his choice. Elrond had, thank the Valar, been as intuitive as ever, but Elladan was not going to trust to luck again and risk his lover's joy, and so he decided that now was as good a time as any.

"Well, Legolas, if you will excuse me? I have some business to attend to," said Elladan lightly, too lightly he realized, for Legolas turned to meet his eyes, lingering on them for just a little too long, he had picked up on something for sure.

"Of course, I will see you later, then."

"Indeed. Gal, will you walk with me?" he asked, gazing down at his still kneeling lover.

"Of course," he replied, standing himself, nodding duteously and falling into step with Elladan, who was already making for the inner area of the gardens.

Elladan chose his spot well, sinking to the ground before his mother's rose bushes, and pulling his lover down with him.

"You look so peaceful, Gal. Rarely have I seen you so relaxed."

The Sylvan smiled, for it was true. Legolas had been successfully delivered to Elrond, and things seemed to be on the path to normalcy once more. He felt strangely carefree and wished for nothing more than to spend the rest of that glorious day with the one he loved most.

"I feel peaceful, Elladan. And _you _– you look - _different_," he said then, his brow furrowing as his head cocked slightly to the side, trying and failing to fathom what it was that he was missing.

Elrond's son simply smiled enigmatically as he leaned closer to his lover's befuddled face. "The wait is over – much sooner than I had expected…"

Galdithion simply stared, not daring to jump to conclusions, for his heart would not stand the disappointment were he wrong, and so he waited for his lover to continue.

"I have seen the way forward, and the only way to carry it out, is by accepting the light of the Eldar, eternally. In two days, I will proclaim my wish for immortality to the Valar…"

No words came to the Sylvan, yet his eyes brimmed with tears that finally fell, for so heavy with emotion they were. Yet he could not speak, for his voice had left him, his throat constricting painfully and strangling any and all sound that begged to be freed.

Elladan understood, for the son of Elrond Earendil was empathic beyond the bounds of the ordinary, the light of his extraordinary lineage shone strongly behind his wise eyes and he saw the pure, unadulterated love behind the tears, behind the slightly quivering lips, the slanted eyebrows and heavy breathing - "…and now that my choice is made, so too, must I tell you what I want most, for much depends on _you_ now. Just as I told you that love was not enough for me to make my choice, now I tell you that it _is _enough to change it… will you – _bind_ yourself to me, Galdithion?"

All sound faded away in a rush of chaotic noise, as his brain wrapped itself around the heart-felt words of his lover, '_love was not enough to make my choice, but will be enough to change it…',_ and if he had not fully understood it that day at the lake on their final leg into Imladris, now, it was as clear to him as the love that shone from Elladan's eyes.

Lifting his head to face the heart-breakingly beautiful, yet humbly pleading eyes of the son of Elrond, Galdithion was suddenly suffused with a wave of giddy joy that stole his breath and left him as vulnerable as when he was but a suckling child. "How could I not – for to bind myself to _you_," he said reverently, his voice but a whisper, "is the greatest honor, my greatest desire, and the greatest joy that life will ever offer me."

Elladan smiled, even though his heart was hammering in his chest as he lowered his forehead to touch that of his lover's. They stayed that way for long minutes, until Galdithion broke the silence, pulling away slightly.

"But _how_? How can we make this work, for you are the ruler's son, and I honor bound to my king and lord…"

"I know not, but we will find a way, we must trust to that."

"Yes," smiled Galdithion once more, the madness of utter joy taking him swiftly to his feet, and with one mischievous, challenging glance at his lover, he suddenly and most unexpectedly began a mad dash into the trees, the sound of wild giggling bubbling helplessly from his mouth as he ran, and ran, and ran, opening his arms to the side and then glancing but once over his shoulder and smiling – he was being hunted…

Legolas smiled tentatively at first, before his lips widened and he tilted his head back to stare into the leafy boughs of the tree he sat under together with Glorfindel, chuckling as the leaves rustled together in a timid breeze.

Glorfindel's brow furrowed, yet he smiled albeit in puzzlement. "What is it?" he asked.

Legolas turned his face from the tree tops back to his lover. "They rejoice for a Sylvan…" was all he said. Indeed, Elladan and Galdithion would not be seen for the rest of that day.

…..

Later that morning, Erestor sat in his corner of the library, trying hard to concentrate and yet he could not, for the day was splendid. Elrond was somewhere close by, and yet Glorfindel and Legolas were probably still down in the gardens. His eyes turned dreamy, as his mind began to wander. Legolas was progressing well, looked much better; perhaps soon they four would come together once more…they would have much time to make up for, he mused saucily as his eyes stared into nothing, his pen poised over a piece of now stained paper as his mind began to conjure images of his three lovers, entwined, writhing, moaning and gasping in a sea of muscle and hair….

"Erestor!" exclaimed Elrond, before chuckling most uncharacteristically, for the dark councilor had visibly jumped, sending a splatter of indigo ink over the proclamation he had been drawing up so painstakingly all morning.

"Ai, Elrond! What has possessed you! Look what you have done!" he shouted, throwing his quill onto the table in disgust as he took in the unsightly blemish, before checking his own fingers for stains.

"If you wish the people to know of the upcoming events, you had best leave me to work!" he said, irritated now, for disorder had always irked him.

"You were far away, Erestor – I have been calling you for the last few minutes."

"Aye, well, forgive me then," he said, calming himself and pushing the lustful images from his mind. "I simply cannot concentrate, Elrond. I do not know what it is, but there is something about today, something that calls to be outside, to enjoy life – I feel oddly – heady, vibrant – alive!" he said, somewhat mystified with his own words.

Elrond held his gaze, once more these strange portends were affecting not only him but those around him. Not long ago they had been of dread and foreboding – of wrongness, and yet today – today they were of rejoicing, and something else, he noted to himself.

"I understand, Erestor, for I feel it too," he said as he plucked up the stained paper Erestor had been working on. They would proclaim Elladan's pledging ceremony to the people, invite them as witnesses, although there would be no formal banquet, for the rites would be too solemn for merry-making; there would, no doubt, be a gala after the event, within the next few days, to celebrate the eternity of their prince, not to mention his betrothal to Galdithion, and Legolas' to Glorfindel.

"I suggest you hand this over to Mel, and that you accompany me to lunch, and then, for desserts, I would hunt down our delectable warriors and seduce them shamelessly. What say you, councilor? Think you I have understood your mood?" he smirked.

"Oh yes, you have read my mind like a book, and I like your plan, Elrond, I like it very much. Come!" he exclaimed as they walked out together.

"Oh, I intend to, councilor, all afternoon."

A smile and an eager nod from Erestor, soon found them both ambling happily down the candle lit corridors, bound for the halls and an afternoon meal that promised much flirting and seduction. 'Perfect!' thought Elrond, although he would have a care with Legolas though, for he was a little unsure as to whether he would be amenable to them – only a little, however.

…..

After a most interesting lunch, during which Elrond and Erestor had agreed to meet up in Legolas' quarters a little later on, the two lovers opened the door to the new suite of rooms on the ground floor. Legolas' personal belongings had already been stowed away and the bed turned down. Fresh candles had been placed around the suite and the balcony doors stood wide open, letting the fresh afternoon aromas infuse the rooms with the sweat smells of honeysuckle and jasmine.

Glorfindel was right behind him, his eyes inspecting the quarters and finding them to his liking. Being on the ground floor meant these rooms opened up directly into a small, private garden, one he knew Legolas would love. There was even a tree that he knew his lover would be climbing, once his health was restored.

A few moments later, servants had filled the generous bath tub to the brim with steaming water; Elrond's orders, he assumed, and so now, a bare-chested Glorfindel bent over it, sprinkling a generous amount of Minu's special mixture into the water and sending glorious wafts of musky woody aromas into the bedroom, where Legolas sat slowly divesting himself of his clothes, lost in thought. However, the perfume suffused his senses and he closed his eyes for a moment at the relaxing effect, Minu's sweet face appearing momentarily before his mind's eye. Opening them once more, he walked into the bathroom, now completely naked, and immersed himself in the steaming liquid, relaxing back before turning to his enticing, half-naked lover.

"Glorfindel," he half said, half whispered.

The blonde lord looked at him in utter devotion, raising one hand and smoothing it over a pale cheek, suppressing the sudden urge to crush the body to his own chest – hard, so hard that he could, somehow, meld them together, pull Legolas into himself somehow.

"Um," he said absent mindedly as he marveled at the feel of soft silk under his fingers.

"Kiss me," said Legolas, looking longingly into the blue eyes he so revered, his own eyes wandering down to the perfect lips.

"Oh yes," gasped Glorfindel as he crushed his fevered lips to Legolas', in lust for the first time in over a month, savoring the taste of him, reveling in the feeling of him yet wanting so much more.

"Glorfindel?" he whispered again.

"What is it?" he murmured, as his lips moved to the side of Legolas' head and down his elegant neck.

"I am – disfigured – does it not – repulse you?"

Glorfindel suddenly pulled away, looking at his lover from the closest of quarters and seeing insecurity for the first time since they had met, and it shocked him. The question had been inevitable, and even had he not asked it, he would be thinking it – it was well that he had brought it into the open. However, he would not lie, the wound did not go unnoticed, it was, indeed, impressive and to say otherwise would not be fair to his lover.

"Nothing about you could ever repulse me, Legolas; the notion is simply absurd to me. It will fade, with Elrond's knowledge and our care, it will fade."

"Come to me?" he asked, moving forward to leave Glorfindel space in the generous bath. Glorfindel had his boots and breeches off in the blink of an eye, his mighty erection bobbing against his thigh as he plunged into the hot water and encircled his lover's body with his legs, pulling him back to rest on his chest as he devoured his neck, his ear, reveling in the gasps and utterly lustful sounds that he was eliciting. He was afire, he needed desperate release, now.

"Legolas, I need…" his voice wavered as his cock finally came into contact with the soft flesh of the Forest Lord's muscled buttocks.

"Oh Valar, have me – take what you need, Glorfindel, fuck me, for I have been dormant for much too long, I have much to catch up on."

Another strangled moan and the blonde warrior plunged himself into the soft depths of flesh that yielded with just a little friction, which only served to spur the now desperate elf as he tried to hold himself still for a moment and give his lover some time; he did not want to hurt him, but he could not control himself, and he was soon jerking awkwardly, his legs brushing his lover's flanks, arms around his chest to hold him firm as water sloshed over the sides with every hard thrust of his pumping hips.

Bringing the pale head down to his own shoulder and neck, he anchored it there as he pounded the body, until he could feel himself coming.

With a mighty roar, the warrior emptied himself completely into his lover as wave after wave of pure ecstasy radiated through him. Finally resting his head back on the cool stone in utter exhaustion, he stayed that way until his lover sighed softly, and Glorfindel jerked back to reality.

"I am sorry, my love," he said, hugging Legolas from behind, wondering if he had hurt him, for he had lost control of himself in his daze of lust.

"Don't be – that was a mighty orgasm," he smirked, although truth be told, his body had started to protest the position in which he half lay in the cooling water.

Glorfindel chuckled wildly, for indeed it had been one of the most powerful ones he could remember, yet he was not finished, not by any means.

Extricating himself, he pulled Legolas out of the water and wrapped him in a soft towel, walking to the bed with him, sitting him down and then disappearing to dry himself off and slip on a robe. It was beautiful, he mused, bright blue, pure silk that slid over the skin as a lover's caress – Legolas had good taste, albeit the styles he donned were much different from the predominant patterns of the Noldor.

Tying it off as he entered the bedroom once more, he found his lover sprawled sensuously over the bed, his injured side covered by the sheet, he noted, his damp hair in disarray around him as he lay, staring longingly at his lover through half-lidded eyes, his own cock hard, partially covered by the bedding. It was all it took for Glorfindel to be there, kneeling over him, peering down at the face that pleaded mercy, mercy he would grant.

However, they were interrupted by an undemanding knock, and Glorfindel smiled, for they had taken their time, enough for him to have his lover to himself for a while, something Elrond had probably done purposefully, he realized. Sauntering over to the door, he opened it, smiling knowingly at Elrond and Erestor, who returned it, the spark of lust upon their faces as they made their way towards the bed, and the enticing desert that lay sprawled upon it.

"You have started without us, then?" drawled Elrond as he looked down on the sinful body below him.

"May we join you?" his question directed at no one in particular.

"You have peerless timing, my friends," said Glorfindel, avoiding giving them an answer, for that would need to come from the one lying on the bed, the one that stared back at them pensively, serenely.

"Come to me then," he began softly, "infuse me with your light, and your wisdom once more, make me the elf I was, will be once more – give me your loving and lift me from the depths of sorrow, that I may never again descend into the chasm of despair."

The blond warrior disappeared from sight as the three lovers converged upon the bed, covering him in a mantle of love and desire, their soft yet desperate caresses bringing about a healing all of its own, for as Legolas felt their bodies, so too, did he feel their hearts and the love they felt for him as it penetrated skin, muscle and bone, until it lodged itself irremediably in his soul, a soul which now, slowly, began to sing once more in joy for the pleasure of it all.

….

His warm hand moved softly over the supple skin, tracing the hardened grooves of muscle, now dormant beneath its silky covering, so beautiful and yet so utterly deceptive – so deadly to any that would dare to defy him.

The hand moved downwards, dipping as it arrived at the curve of chest and waist, feeling the corded abdomen, even in sleep hard and rigid, sliding further down to the swell of pert buttocks – strong, powerful, threatening and yet scandalously inviting, so sensuous, pure desire.

They lay abed still, in spite of the late afternoon sunshine streaming down upon them from the glass doors that Legolas had insisted be kept open; they were exhausted, Legolas especially so, for his endurance was sorely decimated. They had indulged in lazy sex, again and again, for they had all been hungry, desperate almost for the touch they had most yearned for and had been bereft of for more than a year. Sprawled most sensually upon the ruffled silken sheets, one asleep, the others awake, one oblivious, the others, reverent as they continued to observe the body that still slumbered beside them, Elrond's ringed hand now lying flat against the wound that marred it, as was his wont recently.

How he had changed in the short time he had been in residence in Imladris. He was still not well, that much was plain to see, and yet the expression of his face had lightened, his temper was much improved, he was enthused in his project, collaborative in the healing process that Elrond imposed on him – he would soon be well, this the Master Healer did not doubt, but then that heavy feeling was back in the pit of Elrond's stomach, because somehow he knew that when the time came for Legolas to be declared fit for active duty once more, the wheels of destiny would begin to turn, slowly perhaps at first, but turn they would, only now, things would be clearer than they had been, the way would be illuminated, there was no longer any doubt in his mind. Legolas would begin his project, albeit the how and the where of it was still a mystery, for where then would he station himself? The Greenwood was far removed from Imladris, and perhaps Lothlorien was better suited as somewhat of a common ground for both realms – it would also bring their lover close to Imladris, almost half the way.

Yet what of Thranduil? Would he release his Crown Prince from his military duties? What expectations would he have of Glorfindel, as Prince Consort? Too many questions for one day – a day as perfect as this one.


	43. This Is My Pledge

Chapter 43: This Is My Pledge

Melven had taken his breakfast in the main hall, together with Elladan, Glorfindel, Galdithion and Legolas, who was in attendance for the first time since his return. They had hailed him from afar, inviting him to join them, which he did, under the curious stares of his fellow warriors. He had not spoken to Legolas since they had arrived. Melven enquired after his health and progress under the auspices of the Master Healer, and at the relatively promising outlook, the lieutenant had smiled joyously for a moment, before his face slipped back into its all too familiar neutral wall that even Lainion would be proud of, for every time he set his eyes upon the Forest Lord, he could not help but imagine him in that strange garden, listening to Lindo's last words of love and farewells.

"Have you spoken to your bonded, Melven?" asked Elladan lightly, as he resumed his breakfast.

"Yesterday – it was, _eventful_, Elladan," he said, somewhat sarcastically, and Elladan knew that, should he continue to question his friend, he should do so carefully, for Melven's face gave away nothing at all.

"And you have solved your problems?" he asked as lightly as he could manage, his eyes trained on his breakfast, just like his friends, who were, of course, listening in on the conversation.

"We have reached an agreement, so to speak. She will not sail and will give me complete access to my son. When he becomes of age, he will then decide with whom he wishes to dwell. Our – bond, is no more – we are both free now, to do as we please…"

"And you, my friend? Are you alright?" asked Elladan now, his eyes shifting to Melven, for he was a good friend, yet more than this, Elladan was a healer – he knew the toll it took on the body and the mind to end a sacred bond.

Melven did likewise, poising his knife upon his plate before speaking.

"I – it feels strange – not bad, except that I am unsure as to what will happen regarding my son – how often I will see him. The bond we shared was already gravely compromised – yet I was surprised that she tried to dissuade me – I had not counted on that, thinking perhaps she would be relieved – she was not," he said, somewhat matter-of-factly, and Elladan understood it for what it was, because if he paused to imprint his emotions on his words, his friend would cave. It was a defense mechanism he understood only too well.

"You know that you have me, for whatever you may need, my friend," said Elladan, startling somewhat himself as Legolas spoke up then, "and mine, of course," and then Galdithion too smiled and nodded.

Melven stared at one, and then the other, a hint of moisture in his eyes as the corners of his mouth turned upwards, almost imperceptively, yet it was not overlooked.

However, his gaze lingered on Legolas. "My Lord, when do our… the guards - return to the Greenwood?" he asked.

"The day after tomorrow, Melven, and please, dispense with the formalities, my friend."

"I cannot, my Lord, not now, for I must ask something of you, if I may?"

"Of course," he replied, setting his own cutlery down and turning expectantly to the lieutenant.

"My Lord, I wish – I wish to return to the Greenwood, to continue serving in The Company – I find myself irrevocably changed, I have found my calling, and my place in this world. If your king will have me, I would swear allegiance to him and live as one of his own, with my brothers, my new friends, and the ever-present memory of Lindo…"

Legolas was now smiling beautifully, and for a moment, he seemed to Elladan the picture of health once more.

"You have my blessing, Lieutenant, should your lord release you from your duty to Imladris. Can you prepare in so little time?"

"I can, my Lord," smiled Glammohtar, with great joy, "I will ride out – with _our_ people tomorrow…" he whispered, his happiness shining for all to see, this time lingering a while longer on his otherwise all too expressive face, for the blankness of it said so much.

"Then welcome, Glammohtar, welcome to the Greenwood," said Legolas, overjoyed at his friend's decision, knowing that he would see him often in the years ahead, for if everything worked the way he had planned, he rather thought they would be working in close proximity, and there may even be a way for Melven to see his son as often as he wished.

"I will write a missive to my father for you to take with you. Present yourself before him on your arrival, Lieutenant," he said formally, yet the joy on his face was plain for all to see.

"Thank you, Commander," he replied, nodding respectfully before returning to his breakfast, a tiny spark of hope glinting in his eyes.

As they settled once more and served themselves, Legolas' eyes darted from Elladan to Galdithion, before taking a mouthful, only to repeat the gesture once more, until he was caught by an irritated, yet slightly amused Galdithion.

"What…," began Galdithion, but Legolas interrupted him.

"You are both changed, how I know not, but something has been altered, I can _feel_ it…" he whispered now, and although the words had been uttered discretely, something in them had garnered the attention of those sitting around them.

After a moment, once the eyes of Imladris had returned to their breakfast plates, at least partially, Elladan spoke up, for there was no point in demurring.

"Alright, by the Valar, can I hide nothing from you, Legolas? Ai, do not answer… I have already spoken to my family and to my – _betrothed_…" he said, turning to face a smiling Galdithion.

"Elladan!" exclaimed Glorfindel, slapping him on the shoulder before leaning over and squeezing Galdithion's arm. Legolas, however, simply smiled serenely and Elladan cocked an eyebrow at him, waiting for his friend to explain how he had known, for he _had_ known.

"Elldadan, the trees – _grassed_ on you, so to speak…" he smiled, his pun slowly sinking in before Elladan suddenly chuckled most scandalously, making them all smile then, for it was strangely boyish to their ears, and most endearing. Galdithion, however, raked his fingers through his hair, shaking his head at the terrible joke.

However, Legolas' eyes never left those of his friend, as he waited for Elladan to speak again, for there was more to come, he knew.

"I have also spoken to my father on questions of great import, my friends. I once told you, Legolas, that you had my undying friendship, in the Mirkwood – you remember? It was a casual comment and you picked up on the strangeness of it – for a Peredhel…"

"Yes, I remember…." said Legolas, the subtle smile never leaving his now shining visage.

"Legolas, I have made my choice – I have chosen immortality, I will plead for the gift of immortality this very evening. Will you honor me with your presence, my friends?" he finished softly.

Silence reigned as both Elladan and Galdithion smiled at the twin expressions of shock, and then – true joy, and emotion. Legolas' hand shot out to clutch at Elladan's forearm, squeezing almost desperately, his eyes mirroring his feelings, before straying to those of his guard, his childhood friend, his lifelong companion. They had shared so much of life's trials and joys, dangers and hardships. They had served together and suffered together, duty and friendship seeing them through every time. They had indulged in evenings of drunken debauchery and solemn moments of death and despair, and always had they been there, the one for the other.

Legolas stood, almost in unison with his guard, and they both closed the gap between them as if in a daze, the Forest Lord holding out his arms and enveloping this special one that meant so much to him, always at his side as a friend, or at his back as a guard, one that would lay down his life gladly that he should live. And Imladris looked on, and smiled softly as the scene unfolded before them.

"Gal," he whispered, his eyes brimming, "how lucky we have been, my friend, for you and I have reaped the two most stunning elves in all of Arda. Who would have thought, eh? All those years ago when you and I played amongst the beach and oak, our shared fantasies of love and bravery – could we ever have dreamed such a thing as this?" he asked, smiling and yet barely holding his treacherous tears at bay.

Galdithion beamed, so wide it was almost painful, for his friend's sincere emotion meant more to him than almost anything, yet words did not come to him, and so he moved into the strong arms of the Forest Lord, returning the embrace, yet careful not to squeeze too hard.

They sat once more, feeling the atmosphere almost audibly sigh as the strong emotions finally dissipated. However, Melven sat and stared at the floor beside him, his jaw clenching and unclenching, his eyes suspiciously bright. Legolas placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, bringing the warrior's eyes to his own, where he found understanding, and sincere comfort, and so Melven nodded and composed himself as best he could, picking up his fork and forcing himself to finish his meal, exiling those thoughts of what could have been, had fate not left him bereft.

"Now, now, Elladan," began Glorfindel, effectively breaking the solemn moment, "you have left it so late, I must now spend the rest of the day polishing my armor – I would have you cuffing my boots were you still a lieutenant under my command…" and then he stopped at the strangeness of his own words – for Elladan _was_ still under his command – what was he talking about? And yet when he looked to Elladan, he did not seem surprised at the slip at all, and Glorfindel was left wondering why he had not picked up on it.

And after such an eventful breakfast, there would be much gossip for the rest of the day. However, it would not last long, for the Lord of Imladris would send out criers after the morning meal to tell the people of their young lord's choice, and the ensuing ceremony in the gardens that very evening. There would be no proclamation of a formal feast, but that would not stop the citizens from celebrating of their own accord within their family circles.

…..

After breakfast, the four friends walked the gardens of Imladris. There was much planning and preparation to be done, yet they were in no hurry, rather they had all felt the need to walk and centre themselves before it all spiraled towards the evening's event.

Elladan, although physically present, was, in fact, absent. He simply walked along but spoke not, for he was engrossed in thoughts of how to do what he had to – plead for the gift of immortality – to the Valar, no less! He had realized over the past few days, that he had always considered himself immortal, even though the knowledge of the Choice of the Peredhel had been explained to him many years ago. Yet now, to actually _become_ immortal, was a strange feeling indeed, as if he would become someone else, transform into another being – the notion was absurd, yet it unsettled him. Indeed his dreams of the previous night had been most abstract, dreams in which he had died. His body had been cleaned, inside and out, even his bones had been meticulously scrubbed, and then he had been resuscitated...even now, his skin crawled when he remembered the vivid images.

Legolas, of course, had noticed his friend's far-away look. Elladan had not been listening to their conversation at all, and he smiled indulgently, for he thought he understood.

"Elladan, your mind wanders the path of insecurity, my friend. What has you so unsure of yourself?" he asked sincerely, not a hint of mirth about him at all, and yet he seemed – mischievous, the question but rhetorical.

"Elladan?" prompted Galdithion, prompting his lover to come back to them.

"Forgive me, but I am pondering on the evening's ceremony, or whatever it is that will happen. I admit to having no idea what to do, what to say, _how_ to say it! I mean, am I actually speaking - _to – the – Valar_? Or is it simply a symbolic thing? Is the light of the Eldar already with me? Or will I change? Like you, Legolas?"

"I have no idea, Elladan," said Legolas, a little tickled at his friend's apprehension, yet he would not let that show, for his friend was nervous. "I admit to complete ignorance on the matter."

"Elladan, "interjected Glorfindel, "just go and ask your father," he said.

"You are right," he answered, "and I am fretting like a virgin…"

"You still remember?" asked Legolas mirthfully now.

Elladan looked at him in exasperation, as he bore Glorfindel's uncharacteristic chuckling, for the elf who was still general of the Imladris militia, felt inordinately content today. His betrothed was well on the path to recovery, and life had become so much better, if not more complicated, in one simple year, since that magical day he had first set his eyes on Legolas.

"Well then, you must forgive us, my friends, for Gal and I have some issues to see to," said Legolas. "We will see you both later, and I promise to return him to you anon, Elladan – I would not have you pining the absence of your betrothed on this, of all days," he smirked.

Legolas limped away, not to the house, they noticed, but to the town proper, pulling up the hood of his cloak as he went, a vigilant Galdithion at his side, who turned his head for one last glimpse of his lover, smiling at him as their eyes met, the promise of comfort and companionship shining within them, and Elladan nodded – for he would need the company before the day was through.

…..

The outlying streets of Imladris were bustling with activity today. It was market day, and the pathways were packed with warriors, merchants and visiting elves from the outlying villages of the valley realm. Uncountable stalls and tents lined the way, each selling the most exotic of items, ranging from spices to rich cloth, jewelry, weaponry, cheese and many other wares that today, Legolas would take the time to discover, for he felt carefree, truly happy for the first time in many months, albeit he had had to stop and sit on several occasions to recover his breath and strength.

He was pleasantly surprised to see some of his own people there, Sylvan merchants selling worked wood for bow making, strings, bees wax, arrow heads, spider silk, a whole range of pulses, dried berries – the list went on. This was just one of the effects that the Spring Festival last year had brought, and he suddenly wondered if he would find Noldorin traders in the Greenwood's markets – he made a mental note to find out for himself the next time he was home, however long that may take.

Smiling at each other with intent, Legolas and Galdithion clapped each other on the shoulder before joining the crowds, anonymous beneath their hooded cloaks, at least to the majority, for when they had ambled over to the Sylvan stalls, they had both been recognized immediately. Legolas enquired duteously of how trade was going, to which they replied enthusiastically that their wares were in high demand.

After a while, Galdithion led Legolas to an open hut where a roaring furnace let off waves of unbearable heat, and two bare-chested elves were hammering at the molten steel they held over their anvils, their ample muscles tensing and bulging with each swing of their hammers.

Bardor spotted his client immediately, in spite of the full-length cloak he wore, and walked over to him as he bowed, trying in vain to straighten his hair and wipe the sweat from his brow.

"My Lord, 'tis a great pleasure to see you here – I have finished the article you entrusted to me, would you like to inspect it?"

"Of course, Bardor. However, allow me to introduce you to my Lord Legolas, for he, is your client."

Bardor's eyes strayed to the tall, equally cloaked figure beside the Sylvan, his eyes betraying him momentarily as he registered the exquisite beauty of the lord. His hair and body were obscured from his discerning artisan's gaze, but the face – the face was enough for Bardor to wish he were a painter, that he may immortalize it, capture but a tiny piece of that wondrous visage.

Pulling himself out of his momentary stupor, the artisan cleared his throat and moved over to a long work bench and uncovered the item he had been working on for the past few days, smiling triumphantly as Galdithion gasped, unable to hold his tongue at the transformation the item had undergone.

"Valar, Legolas, just _look_ at this, who would have thought…may I?" he asked, moving closer to the bench to inspect it.

"Of course," said Legolas, waving his arm at the item as his own eyes roved over it, making him smile in satisfaction. Legolas then took it from his friend and inspected it for himself, feeling his skin prickle in trepidation. It had, indeed, been most skillfully restored, and he wondered how his lover would react when he saw it once more, after so many years – for it was such a stark reminder of his first life, of what he had lost.

"I would give it a final polishing, my Lord Legolas. If it is acceptable to you, I will deliver it to you personally, later this afternoon…"

"Of course, Master Bardor, but please ensure you arrive before the twentieth hour."

With a nod and a bow, Legolas and Galdithion left the hut and disappeared into the milling crowds. A heart-sick apprentice watched as the lord limped away, and a smirking craftsman clapped the lad on the back, bidding him get back to his duties, for business was unusually good, and there was no time for daydreaming of impossible love.

By the time that Legolas and Galdithion returned to the house, the guard carried a full satchel upon his back, and another in both hands, the fruits of their most enjoyable morning in the market. They had bought all manner of wares, from exotic bath oils to fine linens, an earring, hair clasps, soaps, the list went on, even Galdithion had indulged in a few comfort items he would use with his lover, relax him before the evening's events.

Finally arriving, they stepped through the door, yet Legolas was forced to stop, placing a palm over his chest and closing his eyes.

"Legolas…," called the guard softly, waiting for the turn to pass, and it did, for a few moments later he righted himself and nodded at his friend, a faint smile upon his lips, yet his skin was pale and his nostrils just a little flared.

"Let's get you to your rooms, my friend, you need to rest for a while," he said, watching Legolas' eyes lest he swoon.

"Yes, that is good advice," he admitted, raking his hand through his hair and taking a deep breath.

Galdithion had seen him safely there, leaving Legolas' purchases on the table, and then stopped at the healing halls to speak with Maeron, who promised to visit Legolas and check on him. Thus free for the rest of the afternoon, Galdithion made for Elladan's quarters, his bag of market surprises clutched in his hands. He would accompany his lover for the rest of the day, for he felt sure his company would be needed.

….

Galdithion found Elladan in his own suite of rooms, sitting out on the open balcony, his face somewhat blank as he stared into the distance. Sitting quietly beside him, he turned to observe the strong, noble profile of the Peredhel he loved so well. Yet no words came to him; there was nothing he could say on the subject that had Elladan so engrossed, and so he simply walked back inside, and began to prepare a soothing afternoon, in pure Sylvan style.

Taking off his own tunic, he rummaged through his satchel, pulling out the herbal mixture of fresh rosemary he had found for relaxing muscles, said to emanate an aroma that calmed the nerves and stimulated the senses – it had sounded perfect, and so he had bought the larger bottle.

Next, he placed the moisturizing oil on the sideboard beside the bed, and then lit every candle he could find. A knock at the door revealed the two elves from the flower stall he had visited at the market. Once they had finished, they left with a saucy smile and a courtesy, before disappearing through the door and giggling outrageously.

Galdithion took one last look at his project. Elladan's suite of rooms was now aglow with candle light, and the rays of warming, early afternoon sunshine. The musky spicy scent of resins and herbs and flowers wrapped itself around everything, finally bringing an introspective Peredhel back to the present. He startled somewhat as Galdithion floated to his side on the balcony, and then smiled somewhat apologetically, for he knew he was not good company, the thoughts and sensations that were assailing him were like nothing he had ever experienced. Yet how to explain it? Was it even possible to but hint at the angsty weight upon his chest? Today was surely meant to be joyous, and yet Elladan could not bring himself to live the moment.

A soft squeeze to his knee, a silent invitation to follow his lover, which he accepted, as he stepped into the rooms and gasped.

The light was a balm to his agonizing soul, the stunning array of wild flowers in a myriad of colours and textures, the scent that snaked its way around him, into him – this fusion of sensations drew his eyes to his placidly smiling Sylvan lover, who stood to one side, observing him with the shine of utter adoration upon his face. Elladan's soul lifted then, the weight lessening as he realized that those sensations were but a physical embodiment of the love that Galdithion held for him, and it made him want to cry, squeezing his throat closed and barring all sound from escaping him.

Galdithion stepped forward, his mission more than complete as he slowly raised a hand to cup the cheek of his own Noldorin prince.

"There is no need for words," whispered the Sylvan tenderly, his eyes wandering from eyes to mouth, "for your soul sings to mine, and I understand… come then, and let me honor you, love you and prepare you – for this night, you will become whole, and I will rejoice," he said, his nostrils flaring at the intensity of his own raging emotions.

Elladan smiled for the first time that strange afternoon, as he allowed himself to be most thoroughly pampered, loved and reassured, and only occasionally, did that depressive wave come over him, for he simply could not free himself entirely of the strange thoughts of death, and metamorphosis.

…..

Glorfindel stepped out of the bath he had been sitting in for the last half an hour, taking advantage of his lover's absence.

This night would be life-changing for Elladan, and Glorfindel would watch as he conversed with the Valar, and behold the light of the Eldar in his young lord for the first time. He smiled as he thought of Elrond's joy – and relief, for at least now, one of his three children would always be with him, in one form or another. However, what exactly would happen, he could not say, and he did not pity Elladan at all; at least if there had been some kind of protocol to it, they would all know what to expect, he mused.

Pulling on a silken robe, we wondered over to a small chest he kept behind his bed, one that always remained locked, except for those rare occasions in which he would unlock it and spread its contents upon the bed, just like now.

The items thunked onto the covers heavily, winking up at him in shimmering hues of blues, reds, greens and yellows – the shine of polished gold and mithril wrapping itself around the exquisitely cut gems. 'Ah, Thranduil – what would you not give to run your Sindarin hands over these!' he thought, stroking his own fingers over the heirlooms, the items he had collected over the years, items gifted and sought out alike.

He smiled as the memories of Gondolin came back to him, and with them, that beautiful face – the one he had loved so well. It ignited a yearning in his heart to know of his destiny, of what had become of that, most extraordinary of elves - Legaelair. Had he died? Had he sailed? He knew not, and neither did his great grandson, Legolas.

His eyes turned once more to his prized belongings, knowing only too well that there was one piece missing, one he had never been able to find, and never would, for it had been destroyed along with his own body, left broken and ruined on the slopes of the Encircling Mountains, until Thorondor had retrieved him and given dignified burial.

And then Glorfindel marveled at how easily and fondly he had thought of his own death. Not months ago, he would never have given these memories free rein, for that weighty anxiety would settle in his gut. This time, however, the memories had come to him unbidden, and had stirred in him only fond memory, and so he smiled, because finally, he had put his first life to rest, was at peace with his own loss.

….

Legolas could not wear his Sylvan attire, although 'would not' was, perhaps, a better term. The scar along his chest and side would be with him for many years, and as soon as he got back to his tailors in the Greenwood, he would have to make some changes to his ceremonial outfits. Meanwhile, he would dress as his father's people, in the fashion of the Sindar. He had anticipated this, of course, as he now extricated the fine fabrics from one of his chests.

Finely embroidered black velvet breeches would combine with a silver, calf-length tunic that was made of silk and velvet. The front buttons reached only to the tops of his knees, opening the rest of the way downwards and curving outwards. Likewise, the neck was open down to the juncture of his breast, but not enough to reveal the scaring. A black sash would complete the outfit, the ties of which would trail down well past his left knee.

Finally, he placed Yavanna's crown upon his intricately braided hair, braids he now deftly worked into the sides of Aulë's creation, as Llyniel had shown him on that first day, over a year ago now. The rest of his hair was left to fall naturally around him as its tips caressed his hips.

Sitting before the dressing table now, he inspected himself in the mirror. He was passable, he thought, yet his skin was still too pale, a little too translucent, his eyes still shadowed although there was a little spark back to them, he fancied.

A knock at the door marked the end of his preparations as he limped over to it and opened the door, coming face to face with an open-mouthed Bardor, and an equally shocked apprentice standing behind him with a small cloth bag in his hands, one which threatened to escape his suddenly lax fingers.

"Come in, Master Bardor, please take a seat," he invited the two elves as he gestured for them to sit in the living area.

Sitting down opposite them, he smiled and waited for one of them to say something. It was Bardor, whose considerably more numerous years of experience shone through and he managed to find his voice, as he fumbled in the cloth bag his apprentice dumbly handed him, his eyes never leaving the crown upon Legolas' head.

"Forgive us, Lord Legolas, for the – crown, is…. I – we have no words, it is.._divine_!" he exclaimed in a voice so passionate his eyes shone as his mouth moved exaggeratedly around the word.

"This is, indeed, a unique piece, Bardor. I would take it off to show you, but I am afraid that would make me late…"

"Who – who is the craftsman, my Lord, tell us at least this much…" he pleaded.

Legolas held Bardor's gaze, wondering if he would believe him should he speak the truth. He simply did not know, and so he lent forwards and smiled.

"This piece was commissioned for me, by my protector…" he said, watching the craftsman's face. Bardor's expression was fixed, unmoving, as he nodded, his eyes straying to the crown once more before extricating the item he had brought with him from the bag and handing it to the lord.

"This is perfect, Bardor, you have outdone yourself – tell me, for I am curious. When Galdithion came across your establishment, he told me he had been immediately drawn to the quality of your work, for it stood out above all others…

Bardor smiled enigmatically then, glancing over at his apprentice who was smiling proudly at his master.

"I - have lived for many years, my Lord, and although recently arrived in the valley, I have managed to begin making a living for myself and taking on an apprentice. I have much experience in the art of blades and jewelry. I studied with masters of the first age, both elven and dwarven…" he trailed off, and Legolas thought he could detect just a tiny spark of challenge in the craftsman's honey-coloured eyes.

"You are old, Master Bardor," he said with a smile, picking up the armband he had asked to be restored and polished. "You will recognize this, perhaps," he said.

"Tis of Gondolin, beautiful, and there is a design worked into the side – here – I recognize it because it is the symbol of office – of King Turgon, and this, this is the herald of the House of the Golden Flower."

"Aye, 'tis of Gondolin, Bardor, as is its owner, as I am sure you have already deduced," he said, smiling mischievously.

After the transaction was completed and Legolas stood before his doors to see them off, Bardor turned and leant forward a little, as if sharing a private word with his patron, albeit he knew his apprentice could hear.

"They say you are King, my Lord… that you were invested by the Lady Yavanna herself," he said, as if telling a tale, "and I wonder, for the workmanship of your crown is second to none – my Lord – second to _none_," he emphasized, watching as Legolas broke out into a sincere smile, for the craftsman had understood its origins, second to none indeed, for this was the work of the Master Craftsman.


	44. Metamorphosis

Chapter 44: Metamorphosis

Legolas walked out of his room slowly. He made his way down the corridors towards the main doors, and outside, under the admiring scrutiny of the citizens of Imladris, who were also decked in their best for the evening's ceremony and then unofficial celebrations. Nobody would have guessed just how atrocious he had felt after his foray into the market.

Maeron had visited him not five minutes after Galdithion had left him, finding him perched on the edge of the bed, still fully dressed as he waited for the shortness of breath to pass and his head to stop floating. He had accepted a cordial from the healer, undressed, and then slept solidly for hours.

However, he really could not complain, for his recovery had been going remarkably well so far, albeit he knew the worst was yet to come, when he would start training again – _that,_ he mused, was when the suffering would begin in earnest.

As for his mind, well, that too, was behaving itself a little better. He was still not himself, prone as he was to brooding, his emotions swinging from one extreme to the other, yet he was in control, and for the first time in a while, he was not apprehensive of himself.

There was, however, something he knew he had to do, and yet he had put it off so many times since he had been here. He simply could not find the right moment, and then Elladan's news of betrothal and his choice, it had seemed inappropriate. Tomorrow, perhaps, if his friend was sufficiently recovered from tonight's events – whatever they would turn out to be. Only Elrond knew what was to come, and as far as Legolas knew, he had not spoken to his son, unless he had done so today during his own, forced absence. And if, indeed, he had not, then _that_ in itself said a lot about his motivations – he had either not wanted to scare his son, or – he simply could not explain it.

Lost in his own world of silent introspection, his senses somewhat blunt due to his poor state of health, Legolas nearly ran into the one who now stood before him, brilliant blue eyes boring into his own, green eyes - searching, probing, _knowing._

"Mithrandir...," whispered the Forest Lord, utterly surprised, yet not so, for this night was of great import, one that a servant of the Valar would not miss lightly, and so Legolas smiled, truly glad to see the wizard, who finally smiled himself, placing a kind hand on the elf's forearm.

"There will be time aplenty to tell our tales, young king. For now, come, let us see this done," he said lightly, yet his eyes betrayed him, for the tone of his voice did not match them at all.

Legolas nodded and the two protégés fell in, side by side.

"You are betrothed, then?" said Mithrandir, his eyes set on the path ahead as he waited for the answer he already knew he would get, taking in the uneven gait and his relatively slow progress.

"Aye, and your source of information peaks my curiosity – for you have not been to the Greenwood…" said Legolas.

"Nay, I have not," he said, purposefully avoiding giving the young elf the information he indirectly probed for – 'let him guess' he thought to himself playfully, startling somewhat when Legolas' face turned to meet his, as though he had heard the wizard's internal dialogue. Well, he wasn't going to ask and so he turned his face to the fore once more, he really needed to speak to Aiwendil.

"You have done well, my friend. All is finally falling into place, yet I am in the dark on your political and military plans, Legolas…"

"As you said, Mithrandir, there will be a time for us to talk, and time I have plenty of now, banned as I am from any activity that is not eating and sleeping – well, almost any, that is..."

Mithrandir smirked, for his young friend was insatiable, and had no qualms at all about boasting his exploits.

They soon found themselves at the glade. It was dark, and although not cold at all, a large cloud had slid across the sky, obscuring the full moon and painting the treetops an eerie shade of dark grey. The heavens, however, had burst into life, for without Ithil's* light, their brilliance contrasted more starkly with the now, pitch black curtain on which they hung. 'Strange,' thought Legolas as he admired the scintillating dots of white and blue, yellow and red, that the only cloud to be seen sat so strategically placed before the only object that could obscure them from sight.

Mithrandir stopped at the entrance to greet those he had not yet met since his unexpected arrival, for there stood Erestor, Elrohir and another he had never met, and who Elrohir introduced as Melven Hadorion, Lieutenant of The Company. Mithrandir stood observing him for a moment, for he was clearly of the Noldor, and yet he did not dress as such – he made a note to ask Legolas later, for there was a tale for the telling in this one.

Elrond he had already greeted, and he now spared a quick glance at the lord, who stood to one side, alone and pensive. Mithrandir would not interrupt him now, for he could well imagine the thoughts that would be whirling around inside his friend's mind.

Legolas had walked on until he was beside his childhood friend, casting a cursory glance at his profile before speaking to him softly.

Galdithion stood under a sturdy oak tree, his gaze also cast upwards to the night sky, his long cape floating out around him in the soft breeze, revealing his formal military attire below. If Legolas knew his friend at all, and he _did_, he knew that he would have packed hardly any civilian clothing – and who could blame him? For so many years of serving Legolas meant that when there was a party to be had, Galdithion would be on duty. He simply was not accustomed to actually being _invited_ to one. That would change now, however, for as Elladan's betrothed, he would be a lord in his own right, with his own duties to perform.

"'Tis a strange evening, Galdithion, one I think holds many keys to our future…" he trailed off, his voice audible only to the one beside him.

"Yes, you are right, my friend. I do not know what it is, but somehow, I feel as though after tonight, I – we, we will not be the same… Elladan is plagued with nightmares of change, of becoming someone – some_thing_ different, and yet I cannot help feel that it will not only be _him _to change…" he said softly.

"Yes," answered Legolas cautiously, "and yet not _everything_ will change, Gal. The friendship we share, the love you hold for Elladan, and I for Glorfindel, that will not change – and yet you are right, we will not be the same, Gal. Great things await us – on the horizon…" he said wistfully, and the guard now turned to face his friend for the first time.

"You speak most prophetically, my friend, and I find myself believing every word of it," he smiled.

Glorfindel emerged from the darkness then, finding his way to Legolas' side. The Forest Lord could not help it, for every time he saw the warrior in this his gala uniform, the impact on his body was immediate; the muscles in his legs lost their tension and his heart raced – unfortunately, before he could think of anything to say, he turned his head and coughed, his treacherous lung telling him it was still not up to such strong emotions just yet.

Glorfindel smiled beautifully, then, understanding what had happened and longing to take the king in his arms and love him, yet now was not the time, for solemn deeds awaited them all, as Legolas well knew.

They were all finally together, the small groups having converged and they now stood conversing quietly as they awaited the arrival of the Peredhel.

It was Mithrandir who now looked to the skies in puzzlement, his brow furrowing before turning back to his companions, a subtle smile budding on his weathered face, one that was not lost on the Forest Lord.

…..

Elladan was nervous. His eyes darted back and forth in apprehension, as if he expected some unknown enemy to slam into him from an equally unknown direction. His mind desperately battled with his body for dominion, for it was rebelling in no uncertain terms. His legs felt shaky, his breath was too short, and his hands trembled so that he had shoved them below his luscious cape of midnight blue. He had mostly been able to function correctly during the day, thanks to his lover's exquisite attentions, yet when the time had come to get ready, Elladan had pleaded with Galdithion to leave him, promising to find him later, albeit it had broken his heart to observe the expression of disappointment and rejection upon his lover's face. Yet it was not to be avoided, for Elladan had felt the overwhelming need to be alone, as if he were living the final moments of his life – and there it was again, that strange heavy feeling of death and change.

So many things had popped in and out of his mind during that last hour in which he had prepared himself mechanically, not thinking on what he was doing and yet doing it anyway.

Why had his father not come to him, set his mind at rest? And Elrohir he had not seen all day. He thought perhaps that his brother would be battling his own emotions, as one who had yet to take his own decision, unwilling, perchance, to spoil his twin's moment with his own, sour disposition.

He pondered too, on his life after today, for it was not only he himself, his body, his condition, that would change – but everything. He had already told his father he would follow Legolas, yet he had given no thought whatsoever as to how – in what capacity, he had just known that that was the right thing for him to do – the details, however, were still a mystery to him.

And so he walked slowly towards the glade, where whatever it was that was going to happen, would take place. The nearer he got to the main doors, the stronger those butterflies flapped their wings, making his heart flutter and forcing him to take deep breaths.

Leaving the main doors, he headed for the gardens where the entire population of the valley stood, conversing quietly until they marked his arrival, when silence fell upon them. They smiled and nodded, bowed and curtseyed, yet he could not bring himself to reciprocate as he continued, his legs moving of their own accord as his mind floated in nervous disorientation.

Finally inside the gardens, he found his family and friends, who welcomed him into their midst, all reaching to touch him, smile, nod. He did his best to reciprocate them, and then his eyes caught those of his father. Yet he was surprised when he said nothing, offered no wisdom or assurance, for he simply smiled and nodded, before turning his own gaze to the heavens.

Turning to Galdithion, Elladan finally found his voice, yet they both ended up speaking at the same time. "You look…" they both began, and then giggled, for if Elladan was nervous, Galdithion too, was more than a little apprehensive.

Legolas smiled as he watched their interaction, before he himself searched for Elrond, who stood quietly, alone, invisible almost in the shadows of the night, his dark attire camouflaging him most efficiently, yet his head dress would twinkle and his eyes glint, and Legolas was, for a moment, mesmerized by the effect. He would be remembering his own choice, one that had separated him from his twin brother forever, and although his son would now become of the Eldar, his own experience would make this moment bittersweet, mused Legolas.

Indeed, Elrond watched on from his vantage point a little way from them, as they conversed quietly, all too aware of their surreptitious glances in his direction, imagining what they would be thinking. He watched Mithrandir as he greeted Elladan and Glorfindel as he shared a joke with Legolas about Noldorin hair knots, while Galdithion admired his lover's form and Elrohir tried to hide his strange mood.

He wondered then, if his decision to not speak to his son had been correct. He would never have been able to explain to him what it was that would happen to him, what he would feel – he did not think it possible, even, and any half-way attempt would only have worsened his son's state of anxiety, and so he stood to one side, pensive and alone, with Erestor's quiet presence now at his side, a gentle caress to his lordly hand.

Legolas' eyes were riveted on his friend, who had strayed a little from the group now. He thought then, that Elladan must look very much like his father had, thousands of years before, for there was an air of gravity around him that the Forest Lord wondered at, and his eyes strayed for a moment to those of Olorin, who was also looking at Elladan speculatively, before his own blue eyes met those of Legolas. He thought then, that the maia knew, understood, for of all of them, Legolas and Mithrandir would feel more than most; they were protégés and were privy, albeit in wildly differing ways, of the wiles of the Valar. Olorin's dealings with them were commonplace, whereas with Legolas, he had been touched thrice by their presence, and had been left marked every single time. Was this, then, part of what assailed his friend now? Was his mind preparing him for the brutal onslaught of overwhelming emotion that came with the touch of the Valar?

Olorin nodded subtly in Legolas' direction, coming to stand a little closer to him, for his carers were busy – Galdithion's attention was on Elladan, and Elrond himself, was lost in the moment. His young friend was coping well, but was not well, and however much he tried to hide it, Legolas was already fatigued.

In spite of the gentle conversation going on around him, Elladan himself was beginning to feel uncomfortable, yet he could do nothing more than wait patiently for whatever it was that would happen, resisting the unbearable urge to fidget as his eyes strayed to the darkened heavens, his immaculately braided hair falling back, revealing the shadowed face of a noble Noldorin prince.

The cloud had not moved at all, realized Elladan, as his eyes wandered the sky in curiosity in a vain attempt to distract himself from what was to come.

A star peaked out from behind the dark puffy blanket, blinking playfully at him, wrenching a conservative smile from him. Another star, this one with a yellow hue to it, joined the first, bluer one, twinkling brightly as do the eyes of a lover, and Elladan smiled a little wider now, for he had the absurd notion that it was flirting with him! Another three stars revealed the characteristic five-star asterism of Wilwarin,* and Elladan realized that first blue star had been Shedir,* the brightest jewel upon the wings of the butterfly, butterflies like the ones in his stomach, he thought wryly.

His eyes were drawn upwards, where the Sickle of the Valar, Valacirca* now shone proudly, marking the way North and reminding all who gazed upon it, that darkness would not be tolerated, for the Seven Stars were a symbol of hope for the elves of Middle Earth, and the face of the Forest Lord slipped into his mind's eye for a moment, quite by chance, furrowing Elladan's brow, even though the smile of delight remained firmly in place and a feeling of well-being washed over him for the first time that day, giving him blessed rest from the anxiety he had suffered, and marveling at just how proficient his mind was at distracting him, for the regal image had been most vivid.

He turned on his heel, slowly towards the East, quickly finding the Northern Crown,* and was immediately reminded of the Kingdom of Arnor, realm of the Dundedain, whose line originated from Elendil, his own uncle's descendent. He imagined a dark human, sitting upon a throne of stone, a winged crown upon his head and a star upon his brow. The images were so vivid and yet so playful, benevolent ploys of the mind to ease the tension, he knew, in fact it seemed to Elladan he was playing, playing with the stars and they with him and a giggle escaped him, bubbling forth before he could stop it.

Strange, thought Elladan, how, as he waited for whatever it was that would happen, that the heavens seemed intent on telling him a tale, for the hope of elves and the king of Arnor had made themselves known to him, under the fluttering wings of The Butterfly, as if she were narrating a heavenly tale, guiding him through the heavens and showing him its leading characters.

He turned once more, now facing South and catching first Carnil's* red light, and then Lumbar's* blue, both smooth and steady, unlike Shedir, that scintillated flirtingly in its merry dance in the heavens – he giggled again as he lifted his arms to his sides, as if he could catch them all in his hands and watch as the lights darted here and there, teasing and mischievous.

Still beaming widely, he turned to the West, and gasped, for there, just a little over the horizon, was Borgil,* its red hue shining brightly as Menelvagor,* the Swordsman, continued to slide below the horizon, his raised right arm aloft, the salute of a mighty warrior, and Glorfindel's face flashed before him. He was now giggling away, so relieved he was to be feeling so – good, so at peace, so innocent.

And then his skin prickled and tingled as his mind began to register the suspicion that was now taking hold of him, the suspicion that perhaps, this was no mere diversion to pass the time – was not a random chain of events, however much it had seemed to him just moments before. Again, his eyes were guided upwards to the constellation above The Swordsman, Telumendil,* Star Companion, and the smile was back with a vengeance, his teeth now clearly visible, two elves hand in hand, and yet it seemed to Elladan that one shone brighter than the other, and the image of himself came to him. He gasped then, in sudden and unequivocal understanding … Legolas, hope of the _elves_, a king of the North, the hope of _men_, Glorfindel the _warrior_, and then himself, Telumendil, the companion of the Swordsman, Star Friend - although that did not make sense to him. He closed his eyes to steady his furious heart beat, opening them once more to find they had somehow strayed closer towards the horizon, pinning themselves upon Eärendil,* and his eyes opened wide in shock and awed wonder as his face suddenly felt the heat of a thousand suns upon it, and everything was light…

Legolas resisted the urge to sink to his knees, feeling the steadying hand of Olorin upon his shoulder. They both felt it, for the light was visible to all as it engulfed Elladan until he had completely disappeared from sight, and yet they, Olorin and Legolas, could _feel_ the unbearable beauty within it, one that encircled the heart with an antidote for any evil, one that made the soul sing in utter bliss, a peace and sense of such well-being that touched upon the very foundations of one's existence, a feeling both had felt before, yet would always mark them as deeply as it had done the first time.

Legolas was aware of the soft whisperings in the back of his mind, male and female timbres speaking words that were incomprehensible to him, as if the language was known to him yet the message, paradoxically, incomprehensible. He wondered if Olorin understood what they said, but he did not stop to ponder, for the voices became louder and louder, as if they were shouting, and his mind jolted as he was reminded of that day in the still dead gardens of Celebrian, when nature had deafened him for days, until he had understood that all those voices were all shouting the same word… he listened again, finding a pattern, just as he had done that day, and then they all, slipped into place, the shouting ceased and a tear escaped him…..'_welcome_'

The warmth finally disappeared, the sudden absence of light momentarily blinding him, leaving him disorientated, until the cloud before the moon finally floated away and the first beams of moonlight shone down upon his upturned face, flooding the once black background of stars with milky light and shielding the mischievous stars from sight once more.

He tried to collect his thoughts, control his body, but he was stone, still and unbelieving, paralyzed under the weight of overwhelming emotions. A face stood before his own then, wise, old, understanding, and some of that divine light that had wrapped him in a wondrous shroud of peace and well-being just moments before, seemed to be shining back at him now. Dark hair spilled around the noble face, intricate braids of leadership framing it, heralding Elrond Eärendilion who looked into his own, stupefied eyes and told him that he knew, he _knew_ what had happened, behind the shield of light, inside the loving embrace.

Elladan stared back, and suddenly, it all came to him in a flood; the symbols, the light, the power, the love, the _reason_, and he dipped his own forehead to rest on the chest of his father, as the first heaves assaulted his body and he sobbed for the beauty of it all, feeling the strong arms of his progenitor encircle him. And Elrond, Elrond basked in the now eternal light of his elven heir.

…

Imladris sung for the rest of the evening and through the night, for they had all been witness to the extraordinary sight of their prince pledge his immortality to the Valar.

They would remember as he tilted his head back to contemplate the heavens and then smile as a young boy, before turning and searching with his eyes and smiling again, and again, giggling as a child being tickled, almost as if the stars spoke to him, silent words of collusion that only he could here. And then he had been flooded in light, only to appear moments later. It had been magical, and they were all left wondering what had happened, what Elladan would have felt, what he had heard or said.

Whatever it had been, it was surely a moment for joy and celebration, and so, with the singing as their constant companion, they sat in their circles throughout the gardens, lit their candles and uncorked their wines, and they would not be moved until the coming of dawn.

…..

Legolas took a series of steadying breaths, for he felt dizzy and so he sunk to the ground as gracefully as he was able, hoping it did not look too out of place, for others around the garden had done just that. Such strong emotions had accelerated his heartbeat, and his damaged lung was working overtime to compensate for it. Mithrandir sat down beside him in silent support, and they were soon followed by a somewhat pale Elrohir and a jolly Erestor, both of whom carried bottles and glasses. Where they had stashed _that_ was beyond even the wizard, but even he would be glad of a little nip right now.

Galdithion had tentatively approached the still embracing father and son, but had stopped half-way, a subtle gesture from Elrond had halted his steps, and so he had nodded to the lord, and turned, joining the others upon the grass, yet his gaze lingered on them as they simply stood, locked in their embrace.

It was Legolas who broke the silence as he gasped at the strong liquor that rolled down his throat, garnering a giggle from those around him. "Ai Valar! Just what I needed!" he said, taking another sip of the revitalizing spirit, as others followed suite, murmuring their own non-verbal approval.

The silence stretched on, until Legolas' eyes latched on to Galdithion. "My friend," he started, starling the others somewhat with the sudden noise, albeit it had been soft.

"Elladan must – come down from the stars, so to speak. He needs time together with the only one that can truly understand what has just come to pass. Once he is himself again, he will seek you out," he finished, his eyes lingering on his friend's face, waiting for him to meet his gaze. He did, eventually, and Legolas' heart constricted, for he saw defeat and acceptance – yes he understood, but now, he wanted to be with the one he loved, yet that would, it seemed, have to wait.

After a few shared glasses, Elrond steered Elladan to the small group of family and friends. The others made room for them as they knelt down and accepted a glass of liquor and summarily drank it down.

All eyes were on Elladan, and although nobody asked, the questions were there, in their eyes. However, he simply could not speak now, the emotions were still far too near, except there was one thing he _did_ want to say, and so his sparking, tear-filled eyes turned to Legolas, lingering for long enough to puzzle those that watched him. Finally finding the wherewithal to speak, he smiled tentatively, his expression clearly showing the barely checked urge to weep once more. "I have seen a tiny spark of that light before - the same light, in _your eyes_, my friend, that day we lost True Heart Beria. How can such beauty be born, Legolas?" he whispered as the others looked on, for the story of Beriadan had not transcended, indeed they had no idea of what they spoke, except for Melven and Galdithion. Legolas, however, simply returned Elladan's questing, pleading gaze with his own, one that said that he, too, understood the bliss to be had from just a tiny brush of that extraordinary light, the very essence of the Valar themselves.

Elladan rose then, for his answer had been in Legolas' eyes. He stood and bowed reverently, slowly and purposefully, before looking down to Galdithion.

"Walk with me," he whispered, and Galdithion beamed, linking his arm with that of his lover and walking him slowly away, for he seemed in a daze still.

They walked a fair distance, until the singing was nothing but a background murmur and they were alone.

Galdithion's questing fingers reached for the face before him, his own a picture of awed puzzlement – for here was the face of an elf, a shining, eternal elf lord, descendent of Olwë and Elwë, grandson of The Mariner, son of Elrond who by rights could have claimed the throne as High King of the Noldor; healer, warrior – his own future bonded mate. He simply could not comprehend it, for he was the son of a warrior, humble Sylvans in the service of their king…

Elladan moved into the reverent touch as he himself raised his hand and cupped his lover's face. The kiss they shared then, was soft yet so very generous, for each gave so much of himself, poured all the love they felt into one, delicate touch of warm lips, and they smiled.

Somewhere nearby, a maia sat puffing on his pipe. A hazy blue worm formed in the air before him, before transforming itself into a butterfly and flying away, finally dissipating into the moonlit night.

…..

They strolled back to the house in silence, Legolas with a placid smile upon his face, even Elrond had relaxed, the lines of stress he so often wore on his face had smoothed out. They walked without thinking, straight to Elrond's suite of rooms, where a cold buffet stood upon the table, and bottles of wine had been prepared and chilled, ready for consumption.

Closing the door, they silently served themselves with wine as Glorfindel popped a canapé into Legolas' mouth, smiling as he watched the purposeful chewing of those sinful, luscious lips.

Erestor giggled, for after all that had happened out there in the gardens, Glorfindel was now shamelessly flirting with his lover, his intentions obvious, not that he objected, of course.

Elrond smiled a little, before letting it widen as Legolas returned the favor, sliding a grilled asparagus into Glorfindel's mouth, watching as his lips encircled the vegetable, sucking on it before engorging it completely, smirking as Legolas' eyes lost their focus a little, his eyes now fixed on the greasy lips.

"And why not?" murmured Elrond, as he smoothed his palms up the strong chest of the elf that stood with his back to him, talking into his neck. "This night is for celebrating – the gift of eternal life for us to love each other, if you will have us," murmured Elrond, his hands questing over the fine cloth of the Forest Lord's Sindarin tunic.

Tilting his head back until it rested on the lord's shoulder, Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, before opening them again, Glorfindel and Erestor before him, Elrond behind.

"Oh yes, I will have you, eternally, for I could never get enough of your loving. And then – what better way to celebrate immortality, than to share in joy – this gift of the Valar," he said to them, smiling as he felt his breaches loosened and the questing hands move lower, over his now bare buttocks, down the side of his hips, as other hands untied his sash and unclasped the tunic, pushing the fabric away and baring the chest, no longer perfect and yet beautiful still.

Erestor kissed him softly as Legolas felt the hard flesh penetrate him from behind and he gasped into the kiss.

And thus, the soft yet intense loving began, as he was taken and pleasured, until he could endure no more, and he slept, cradled in the arms of his three lovers, united in a bond of friendship and lust, admiration and respect, one that would not be easily sundered.

TBC: Only one more chapter to go!

Footnotes:

all the objects mentioned in this chapter would be visible around mid-April, from a latitude I assume to be between 45 and 55 degrees North.

Ithil: the Moon

Wilwarin: Cassiopeia

Shedir: alpha (brightest (usually)) star of Cassiopeia.

Valacirca (Sickle of the Valar): The Big Dipper, a seven star asterism in Ursa Major, or the Big Bear

Northern Crown: Possibly Corona Borealis, but Tolkien did not make this clear, and descriptions of its position shed no further light on the matter.

Carnil: Mars

Lumbar: Saturn

Scintillation from stars, which emanate their own light, and steady light from planets, which reflect sunlight. In Tolkien's universe, they did not differentiate planets and stars from this perspective, although there is a reference to 'the wanderers', which would be planets, due to the fact that they seem to wander across the heavens, appearing in different positions at different times of the year. In fact the term 'wanderers' was already used by early Greek astronomers, if not before.

Borgil: This could be either Aldebaran, the alpha (usually brightest) star in Taurus, or Betelgeuse, the alpha star of Orion (Alpha Ori :D) Indeed here, I have used it as Betelgeuse, I simply could not resist writing myself into the story :D

Menelvagor, The Swordsman, is Orion, the Hunter. Tolkien has him wielding a sword above his head, where Greek mythology makes that a club.

Telumendil (star companion, heavenly friend). Possibly Gemini that stands to the upper right of Menelvagor (Orion). However, this is not clear. Note that the two brightest stars in this constellation are Castor (alpha) and Pollux (beta), although the latter is actually brighter, even though it is not designated as such. Pollux is the star that Elladan refers to, and the importance of this reference will become clear in the final chapter.

Eärendil – Venus. Yes, a planet, not a star! The contents of the phial that Galadriel gives to Frodo would actually be filled with sunlight, rather than starlight! However, we do not have to assume that an object should be classified in any scientifically correct way in Middle Earth; after all, it is a fictional story and as such, Tolkien permits himself the luxury of not doing so, for I feel sure he must have understood the difference between stars and planets!


	45. On the Horizon

Chapter 45: On the Horizon

author's notes:

This is the last, bumper chapter in Book II of The Protégé. I sincerely hope you have enjoyed the tale, one that for me, has been both enjoyable and educational. I would like to thank all those that read part or all of the story, and of course, my very special gratitude to my reviewers Alaeryel, Naledi, Ziggy, Elvewen, SilverNM, Bime and BlackLion, for taking that time, five seconds or five minutes, (half an hour in some cases!) to make this experience so gratifying and worthwhile.

And finally, my most heart-felt thanks to the magnificent Mindirith, my beta reader, whose diligence and wisdom has kept this story coherent, readable and under control.

On the Horizon

The valley had woken well past dawn after yesterday's extraordinary events, for Elladan's Choice would be remembered for many years, so profoundly moving it had been to those that had witnessed it. Of course they had celebrated well into the small hours and so, breakfast had been served later than usual. Even so, neither Elladan nor Galdithion had appeared - something that surprised no one, and had the Greenwood warriors smirking good-heartedly, Melven amongst them.

Spirits were unusually high, and the chattering was incessant, as steaming plates filed from the kitchens and were promptly set upon by the ravenous elves. However, Legolas ate sparingly, more so than he had done for a while, something that was not lost on Elrond, who caught his attention with a silent question.

A subtle shrug was all the answer he got before Legolas turned his attention to his tea and sipped on it pensively. His gaze rested far away from where he now sat, his thoughts turned inwards, to what must now be done – a task that seemed so utterly monumental, and which unfortunately, involved all those especially close to him. Could he use them in such a way? His own betrothed, his lovers, his two best friends – could he place them before the enemy, sacrifice them if necessary for the greater good? Watch as their bodies were tortured and maimed, or worse still, their minds polluted and infected with the festering madness that came with exposure to _Him _and his minions? Could he stand that? Knowing that it had been _he _to ask it of them?

Yet when he thought about it, his father had been doing just that for many centuries, by allowing his own son to patrol the Mirkwood, and again just recently, when he had sentenced Legolas' cousin, the king's nephew, to Baudh Gwaith. His father had told him many times, that _this_ was the true sacrifice of a leader, indeed, it had been mercilessly engrained upon him since early childhood; nay, he _knew_ there was no room for his own personal feelings. Yet it both hurt and worried him, for however much he knew he was right, _being_ right didn't make it any easier.

And then, was _he_, Legolas, Lord of the Forests, really the right elf to do this? Was he the one to lead them? Could he claim that right beyond all doubt and reason? He simply could not convince himself to accept what he thought he knew to be true. He needed reassurance, explicit support, yet to gain it, he must voice his concerns. For the first time in a long, long while, Legolas Thranduilion felt – unsure of himself, doubted himself, and it both irked and unnerved him.

Mithrandir was scrutinizing him, yet his penetrating gaze was unable to pierce the defensive wall that Legolas had constructed around himself this morning, for he would have no one privy to his thoughts until he had ordered them into some semblance of normalcy, and taken the decisions he knew he could no longer put off. He also knew that once it was done, it would close one chapter of his life, only to open another, one that as yet, had no certain ending … even though the path was now clear before him, at least almost; and therein lay the problem.

A simple deep breath was all it took to draw attention to himself. Smiling as reassuringly as he could, which was not at all, he stood and made to excuse himself.

"If you will forgive me, my Lords, I would take a gentle walk with my thoughts."

"They are far away, my Lord," said Elrond, watching the Forest Lord carefully.

"Yes, they are far away," he answered, wondering if Elrond knew just how right he had been. "I will see you all later, I trust?"

"Of course," replied Elrond as the others nodded, Glorfindel included, for Legolas had shown him no sign that he wished for company, and so he simply watched as his lover walked slowly away, towards the main doors, and out into the spring sunshine.

"He is disturbed by something," marked the Lord of the Valley.

"He has been for some time now," added Glorfindel.

"I rather think he has decisions to make, important ones – no doubt he will tell us before the day is through," said the wizard as he poured himself another tea, apparently unconcerned over Legolas' strange behavior, yet Elrond could not shake the idea that the Maia knew exactly what would happen, and that somehow, it would all come to a head, sooner than any of them had thought.

…..

Lazy white clouds drifted over the valley realm of Elrond, the sun now beginning its descent into the West. Mithrandir reached out to the land around him, breathing deeply as his eyes strayed to the blue sky – summer was fast approaching, he mused, before his senses nudged him in the right direction. 'Ah', he said to himself – 'there you are, you Sylvan rascal…'

A few minutes later, the wizard stood below a sturdy oak, knocking the bowl of his pipe against its trunk to empty and then repack it.

"Some decisions take longer to make than others," he began. "Some are even a pleasure to make, for they bring joy, a smile to the face of a child or a lover. Yet others… others are taxing on the mind, and heavy – on the _heart_," he trailed off, waiting for a few moments before continuing.

"Come down, young King, and take council from one that understands you better than most," he said kindly, smiling as Legolas' blond locks appeared from the first branch, the only one he would have been capable of reaching.

Easing himself slowly to the floor, he came to stand before the wizard, considering his options.

"Mithrandir - have you, perchance, come to the same conclusions as I? Can you see what I see?" he asked softly, beseechingly almost.

"Well, if you are talking of the Dark One and his return, what we must all now do to avoid his reign – I believe we are of like mind, Legolas. Tell me then, what it is that has you perplexed…" he invited, lighting his pipe as he wandered over to a fallen log and sat down, looking expectantly at a still standing Legolas.

"I know that this thing will happen sooner than any of us think – there is no time to lose, Mithrandir, and yet so much to achieve. We need to start acting now, agree on this, our common cause, and how we must achieve it. We cannot be divided in this. We must plan, choose our leaders and begin our campaign – yet to do that – I must place all I love in danger, all those that mean the most to me are those I feel must play key roles…"

"and…"

"And – I am unsure as to my claim to leadership…"

Mithrandir stopped his puffing. 'Of course he was,' he realized. Accepting leadership is one thing, even kingship yet this – what Yavanna had asked of him was nothing short of becoming High King, at least in a military sense.

"Legolas, I could give you many reasons as to why you should not doubt, yet I fear I may have to repeat myself," he said, "we need to put our cards on the table, my friend, for although you and I see the path before us as clearly as if it were a painting upon Elrond's august walls, the others will need to be briefed," he warned, taking a long draw on his pipe as he watched the Forest Lord think.

"I know," he said, wandering over to where the Maia sat and slowly lowering himself down onto the forest floor, as a child would at his father's feet. The thought brought a tender smile to Mithrandir as he looked down onto the crown of golden hair. "I need those people with me now, that we may start this thing. I have questions to ask and proposals to make and every day that passes seems to me to be a lifetime – another day lost…," he said, now resting his head back upon the wizard's knee.

"Not lost, Legolas," he said softly, placing one gnarled hand upon the silken locks. "You need to convalesce and then recover your strength, for you will need every drop of it, yet I understand your words. Tell me though, who do you propose join you, as your left and right hand?" he asked carefully.

"I would answer you now, yet I fear I would need to repeat myself…." Parried Legolas, turning his head and smiling up at the face that captivated him so much, that said so many silent things to his soul.

"Indeed," said the wizard, somewhat ironically. "Well, this, is what we will do, my friend," he began, his tone no longer soft and calming, but full of intent. "I will call a council today, after dinner. That way, we can brief our friends on what we know, and we can each answer each other's questions. What say you?"

"This very day? Do you think it time enough?" asked the Forest Lord, climbing to his feet once more, somewhat startled at the prospect, yet not negatively so.

"They have nothing to prepare, do they? There is no time like the present, Legolas – what is the point in waiting for another, impossibly long day to pass, hum?"

"Yes, yes you are right, of course – will you…" he said, waving his hand in the air as he searched for the word that would not come to him.

"I will arrange it, yes. Who do you need to be there?"

"Elrond, Erestor, Elladan, Elrohir, Glorfindel, Galdithion, you, of course," he smirked, in spite of the gravity of the situation, for he was simply glad that something was finally happening.

Mithrandir smiled as he stood and approached his young friend. He was suffering, he could tell, for commanding an army under your king's orders was one thing, but commanding as a king – these were two very different things, as Legolas was now coming to realize. It wasn't that the wizard doubted his capacity to do so, for he did not – there was no one more suited to the post, both politically and ancestrally – for Legolas was neither fully Noldo, Sylvan or Sindarin, but a mixture of all.

"Legolas, whatever it is that you must ask of the others, you must know that my task here, in Middle Earth, is to help banish the one you seek, at the behest of my Lord Manwë. It is, therefore, my solemn duty to aid you in this – if you will accept my council?"

Legolas' eyes snapped to the wizard, his green eyes shrewd, a spark of hope now irreversibly kindled in them, and then they softened and his face visibly relaxed in relief and gratitude, and Mithrandir saw it.

"I would be honored to have your council, Mithrandir. The burden already seems lighter to me - to confront this with a Maia at my side, a friend no less," he said, a smile blossoming on his incomprehensibly fair face.

A smile and a nod had the wizard whirling on his heel, his grey robes flapping around him as he disappeared, back towards the house and the task in hand, full of intent and purpose. Things could not be working better, he thought - his own lord would be pleased.

Legolas heaved an unsteady breath. He had his first ally, and a powerful one at that. Now, it would all spill out into the open, for better or worse. He would walk back to his own rooms and rest for a while before dinner, by which time news of the council would have transcended and the questioning would begin.

….

Dinner had, indeed, been a strange affair, for Imladris was still buzzing with life, and yet its leaders and their guests were unusually quiet, and somewhat tense. There was a game of subtle observation going on, most of it directed towards the Maia and the Forest Lord, questing eyes that searched for the slightest, subtlest of clues as to what was going on. It had, surprisingly, been Mithrandir to call the council, and, of course, it was clear that it had something to do with Legolas' strange mood.

The Forest Lord had been completely tight-lipped, offering nothing in the way of insight, even to Glorfindel himself, and so they had given up asking, yet their curiosity and trepidation at what was to be discussed, was becoming almost unbearable.

Manwë's protégé had explained to Elrond, that only Erestor, Glorfindel, Galdithion, and his twin sons should attend, and that there would be time enough for public councils later on. Elrond's face had set itself in a frustrated frown that would not be budged, and even now was still visible at the dinner table.

Once the lords had satisfied their scant appetites, they agreed to meet in fifteen minutes in the council gardens. They would be safe from prying ears and eyes there, for the area was adjacent to Elrond's private suite of rooms, and was well-guarded. Even so, Elrond had ordered two more guards to attend, for the Maia had insisted on complete secrecy, something which had only served to deepen the lord's frown.

Erestor was the first to arrive, wishing to ensure that everything was to his satisfaction. This council would be informal, in so far as its participants were either family or close friends – yet that was no excuse for slacking, and so he nodded in approval at the lit candles and decanters of wine and goblets which had been placed on the stone table in the centre of the circle of tall-backed council seats.

The evening was warm, not a hint of a breeze on the air – summer was fast approaching, indeed the sun had still not set below the horizon, even thought it was well past the twentieth hour.

Elladan, Elrohir and Galdithion arrived then, nodding at the advisor as he, in turn, watched them gliding to the table and serving themselves, their heads bowed in quiet conversation.

Elladan was changed, realized Erestor, for he looked somewhat taller, he thought, or perhaps it was his longer, straighter hair that gave him that impression. His light grey eyes sparkled brightly, and it seemed to the valley's Chief Advisor in that moment, that he was full of life, humming with a vital energy he had not possessed before.

Soon after, Mithrandir arrived together with Legolas, and Elrond himself, flanked by Glorfindel.

Legolas caught Elladan's eye and smiled, because his friend looked beautiful. He had indeed been changed, subtly, yet enough to draw the eye. Elladan smiled ruefully back at him, remembering his worries from the previous morning when he had fretted over what would happen to him. Well, it was done, and if he were honest with himself, he was happy with the results, and Galdithion seemed to agree with that, for he had proved himself insatiable the entire day.

They were all present now, and after a few minutes, they sat and waited for someone to make the first move.

"Well then, this council is now in session, and I would ask Mithrandir to explain why it is he has called us here …" said Elrond, his expectant gaze settling on the wizard, watching as he stood and moved into the centre of the circle, staff in hand.

"I have called you all here today, for the time has come for me to fulfill my purpose…," he paused, waiting for the reaction he knew he would get.

"Mithrandir, your purpose is to banish _Him_," said Erestor, matter-of-factly, "I know that he stirs, for we have all discussed this much – and yet you speak as if it will happen tomorrow – there is nothing to suggest that we should act now, surely," he argued, a little half-heartedly, thought Elladan as he watched the advisor from his seat beside Galdithion.

"Lord Erestor, my purpose is to _aid_ in his banishment. My Lord Manwë sent me to help in any effort to this end, and in this, Legolas and I share a common goal - Lady Yavanna, with the blessings of the High Council, has bid him do this very thing."

He paused for a moment, watching each of those present closely for their reactions, yet they remained unsurprised - thus far there was no doubt in their minds, it seemed, and so he continued.

"Over a year ago, I met Legolas quite by chance, as we both greeted the morning on our respective balconies," he reminisced, his eyes straying to Legolas', smiling subtly at the memory. "I knew it was him immediately, yet it was not the time to reveal such things – as he himself said to me. You see, I always knew there would be one – one that would lead the elves of Middle Earth to freedom – and yet I had always suspected it would be a human – I was wrong…" he said, his eyes now fixed meaningfully on Elrond, whose grey eyes in turn strayed to Legolas, who was looking at Mithrandir in puzzlement.

"What do you mean?" asked Legolas, speaking for the first time.

"I mean, that I knew there was to be a special one, who would be the key to my own task upon this land. And that day, on the eve of the opening ceremony of the Spring Festival – I knew it was you, Legolas, of that there can be no doubt," he said, holding the stunning green eyes with his own, benevolent blue irises.

"You kept that to yourself for a _reason,_ I suppose," returned Legolas, somewhat disgruntled.

"Indeed, for it was not the right time, my friend, you know of what I speak. You had yet to be invested, there were things you yourself were still unsure of, still are – you would not have believed me."

Silence was the only answer the wizard needed to know he had been understood and so he continued.

"The Valar are not impulsive – they are – parsimonious, almost. Yet if they have begun to move the pieces, it is for a reason. Lady Yavanna visited Legolas five years ago, on the eve of the Spring Equinox in the Greenwood, _publically_ – there is significance to this fact. She tells him he is her Protégé – that he must protect her woods and forests. Then, five years later, she returns, telling him in no uncertain terms that he is _king_ of her forests, crowning him as such - yet there is more to her message, is there not, Legolas?" prompted the wizard.

"Indeed there is," he said as he stood slowly and moved to the middle of the floor. "Both my Lady's visitations were public, with chosen witnesses to her coming. She declared me Lord over her forests and bestowed upon me a magic I have yet to dominate. A Protégé, she said, one that serves the Valar and is, in return, protected. From that moment on, I have been plagued with strange moments of – insight, or perhaps it is foresight, I know not. I know only that I know," he trailed off as he frowned for a moment, wondering if he was expressing himself well enough.

"Lord Elrond had a vision during that Spring Festival – remember the appearance of the symbols of the White Tree of Gondor and Elros. It was Lady Galadriel who later pointed out that it was not Elros' face you saw, Lord Elrond, but his descendent, a _human_. I also know that my own father has had episodes of foreboding, shortly before the Red Fang incident, and from what I am told, even Lords Elladan and Glorfindel have had strange moments of surety, of knowing the rightness of something, in spite of not having the slightest scrap of evidence to support it – so many things, that fit so perfectly, that complement each other so unequivocally."

By the time Legolas had finished, they were all left with the sensation of wonder, for Legolas' memory had not betrayed him, and when it had all been put together in such a way, it did indeed bring to mind just how purposefully their destinies had been shown to them. It also proved the Maia's point – the Valar _were_ moving, implementing their plan, and there was a reason for it.

"Mithrandir, Legolas – you speak of _His _coming as being sooner than we here seemed to think he would – what period of time, exactly, are you implying?"

The Forest Lord turned to Elrond, facing him fully.

"We have already spoken briefly of what lies on the horizon, my friends," began Legolas, turning his back on them now, as he began to pace.

"And yet we have not yet named it, _Him_," he turned now, his eyes blazing brightly as a mood took him and his posture became taller, stronger, his voice louder, commanding - "Sauron – _Annatar," _he whispered ferociously.

Mithrandir straightened, his own face a mask of utter defiance at the Forest Lord's empowered words, feeling the growing pulse of magic as it weaved around the king and infused his words, until it manifested itself in physical form, sending them all a stunned step backwards. His long hair had lifted as if a strong breeze blew, yet the night was still. It undulated unnaturally slowly, curling and snaking around his head as his eyes unfocused and shone a bright green. He seemed to Glorfindel a mighty mage then, implacable, merciless - _frightening_.

"The Greenwood is becoming more and more perilous, the _Tower _more populated, _He _– is moving his pieces upon the board, my Lords. I can feel him stirring as a _black eel_ uncoiling itself from imposed slumber, slowly still, and yet uncoiling it _is,_ and for that, we must be prepared, else we will be overrun, chased across the sea, never to return, leaving all others to _His _mercy," he said forcefully as he trained his unnerving eyes on Elrond, Glorfindel and then the rest.

The general slowly stood, as he joined the Protégé, yet truth be told, he was a little unnerved at his lover's appearance. The others were also on their feet now, for to hear this – conversation - one could not do so upon one's seat, it was too transcendental, too rallying and their hearts raced as the adrenalin flowed and they were enflamed. They watched as the two warriors paced and circled, the fine hairs of their bodies prickling uncomfortably as the scene unfolded before them.

"I _know_ this, Legolas," began Glorfindel, "and yet I am unsure as to what exactly we would be aiming to achieve. Should we battle him, we would need more than an army of – what – two, three thousand elves – we would need much more than that to defeat _Him_."

"Say his name, Glorfindel, speak it not with trepidation, but _determination._"

Glorfindel stared, surprised at Legolas' request, indeed it had been a command, an irresistible one - and yet he was right, he would not cower at the mention of the one he now knew Legolas hunted.

"_Sauron_," he sneered, his own beautiful face transforming into an expression of utter despising.

Surprisingly now, Legolas smiled, triumphantly almost, before he continued, the wizard's own smile lost on him.

"Yes, that is correct, we cannot overcome him alone – it is the _second born_ that will help us – or….. who _we_ – will help…" he said, glancing once more at Glorfindel to gauge his reaction, for reaction he had garnered. Glorfindel stared at him uncomprehendingly at first, before opening his mouth tentatively.

"Humans? They are scattered and dispersed, save for Gondor and Edoras. I assume they would be just as interested in fighting, but with no unifying element, it seems unlikely we would muster a sufficient number of them – to make the difference. They will not fight for elves, even against _Sauron._ They are too superstitious, untrusting."

"Indeed – and _this_, is the crux of the question, is it not? For Elrond and Gil-Galad had the promise of Isildur to reunite them, we do not have that, and yet we must look for something to bring them together, for if we do not, our cause would be lost before it ever began.

"_Remember_, my Lords, remember the omens from a year ago," said Legolas, enthusiastically almost, as he recalled those events, feeling as the pieces slipped into place once more. "Elrond's foresight gave him a glimpse of the path we must now take. I am to restore the White Tree of Gondor, and this fact alone, implies the return of a human king – Elros' descendent, the Heir of Isildur – he is the one we must find and draw into our ranks. You were not wrong, Mithrandir, for _this_ is the one you have felt. We must shelter him from Sauron, educate him, aid him in all we can – nay, _shape_ him – that he grow strong and wise, that he make our sacrifice meaningful - make him worthy of the mantle of kingship…"

"Elbereth, Legolas, you have made it all sound so rational, and yet the sheer scale of it – the task before us is – simply – _incomprehensible_…, is there truly so little time? Surely Sauron is still a long way from gaining the power he will need to dominate?"

"What is a mere century when you consider all that must be achieved, Glorfindel? And then who is to say that he will not recover his strength sooner? While he even exists, that danger hangs over us, a constant threat that sooner, or later, will rear up and destroy everything we love. This Mithrandir knows," he said, pointing to the wizard without looking at him. "It is not coincidence that my sword was forged by Lord Aulë himself – master to Mairon when he was still incorrupt. Even now, the trees tell me of strife; further south there is something that frightens them, they feel threatened of a sudden, and albeit this is not enough to prove my point, organizing an elven army, preparing our people for the task before us, and finding the hope of men, bringing the second born together and fighting down the barriers of ignorance and superstition – this may take us many years, Glorfindel."

"A century?" exclaimed Elrond, striding towards them. "You truly believe that will be the order of things?" he asked disbelievingly.

"Yes, this I believe, Elrond," said Legolas, not the slightest shadow of doubt upon his determined face, and Elrond was compelled to believe him.

Elrond's skin crawled painfully as it finally sunk in – _one century_, one hundred years – it was not enough, they needed more time…

"There is no more time to lose, Elrond," said the Forest Lord, as if reading his mind, "this is why I have begun my work on the joint army. It must be created, promoted and trained with all haste, lest events spiral out of our control and we are overrun," he finished, now standing just in front of the Lord of the Valley, who stared for a moment, mesmerized by the undulation of Legolas' hair and the strange green mist obscuring his eyes almost from sight.

Legolas knew the time had come to broach his own concerns regarding his right to leadership, yet chance played a hand and his pride was saved as Elrond spoke.

"You have spoken of a human, my own brother's descendent, as the one to bring the first and second born together, make this new alliance possible – yet we have still not talked of the one who will make that possible. I do not believe Mithrandir was wrong, my Lord Legolas, I believe it is, indeed you, that will make it all possible. I have heard your words, we all have, I second them and I believe we all do – I saw you crowned a king, Legolas, a king who now faces the daunting task of uniting the elven realms and leading them forward to battle, and then freedom – this is the epithet of a High King – Legolas…" he trailed off, yet his eyes lingered on the stunned ones of the Protégé.

Legolas stood and listened to Elrond's impassioned words, yet when he had pronounced him as High King, his eyes had rounded and his chest had constricted. Had Yavanna really intended for him to rule over _elves_? What Elrond said made sense, yes, but was there really a _need_ for a king?

"A High King? Elrond, I have a crown and the forests as my realm, yet no subjects to warrant that title," replied Legolas, somewhat exasperated at this strange limbo in which he found himself. He had been crowned, and he had shown his dominion over the woods and its creatures during the demonstration, but that did not make him a king in the sense that Gil-Galad had been to the Noldor. "I am simply unsure as to whether I was ever meant to rule in that capacity. I have always believed my realm to be the forests, not those that dwell in them, and Yavanna has never given me cause to think otherwise; moreover there are those with blood claims to that right."

However, no sooner had he said it, than something his father had recently said to him came back to him, word for word.

'_...You are a fine leader, Legolas, and when the time comes, you will be a fine king of elves…'_

His skin prickled uncomfortably, 'how could he have known?' 'why would he say such a thing?' 'surely he was referring to the Greenwood…'

And then Lindo's face came to his mind's eye and he smiled as he remembered the words the Bard Warrior had spoken in that strange garden, before he had finally departed.

'_...destiny has in store for you a great feat, one I wish I could see, participate in, yet doubt not that when the deed is done and you are victorious, I will sing your praises from afar…'_

He swallowed thickly, for it had been the first time that he had remembered his warrior in love and joy, instead of pain and suffering.

Elrond stood so close to him now, that Legolas suddenly realized he had fallen silent, that his mind wandered, remembered, analyzed, and that the Lore Master was cognizant of it, for Melian's inheritance had come to the fore – Elrond could see the internal battle, something that was confirmed as the lord smiled enigmatically.

"You see? How the pieces fit so well? 'Tis not random, my _King._ What I say is the truth, and so I will proclaim it. Galadriel never claimed it, for many would not accept her lineage, especially the Sylvan or Sindarin, this she knew. As for Inglorion, he was never recognized by his father, and even Artanis refers to him as kin rather than brother. And me? I did not want the mantle of kingship, for after Ereinion's fall, we were scattered and dispersed, convalescing, so to speak. Our people wanted nothing more than to settle peacefully and I – I would have been forced to convince them – nay, it was not the time for surrogate kings…" he said wistfully, "yet now, now is the time for unification, for a High King to join us all in this one purpose. So you see, there is no one else with such a rightful claim, Legolas."

Legolas could do nothing but pin his eyes on the floor, for his mind was now a whirling vortex of confusion and realization, self-denial and weak acceptance – he simply did not know what to say, for he did not even know what to feel, and Elrond knew it.

"You will see I am right, my friend," he said softly now, placing a soothing hand over Legolas' forearm, allowing it to linger a while, until eventually, Legolas smiled a little shakily, before turning his gaze back to the others, trying to gauge their reactions to Elrond's proclamation.

It was Glorfindel who stepped forward first, his face a mask of determination and proud nobility.

"There is no king more deserving than one appointed by the Valar themselves. Just as you search for the unifying element, the descendant of Elrond's brother, I too, will proclaim your right as High King, of all elves, for we too need a leader, someone strong, skillful, someone to make them believe, as we here do, that this thing can be achieved, someone that can bring us together, give us a fighting chance."

Legolas heard him, and nodded in understanding, before looking to Elladan, Galdithion, Elrohir and Erestor. They returned his gaze steadily, the hint of a smile upon their lips and a subtle nod was all that was needed to show him they, too, accepted him in this, his new role.

He stood in silence, his eyes turning to the ground once more, his hair finally ceasing its merry dance as it settled itself around him. "I cannot claim this until it is officially agreed. I must continue as I am now, and should our leaders decide that this is, indeed, the path I am to take, then I will accept it, humbly and in service…" he said, his eyes now back on Elrond.

"So be it. Imladris will first be consulted and we will take the initiative – leave that issue with me, Legolas – do what you must to make our forces ready."

A steadying breath had Legolas facing them one more, steeling himself for what he would now ask once more.

"In whatever capacity I do this, as Forest Lord or High King, I must publically name those I believe should accompany me…"

"You know," began Elrond, "Elladan has hinted that he would follow you, Legolas – how, or in what capacity I do not know - I do not think _he_ knows," he said, looking pointedly at his son, who simply stared back at him, for it was true.

"Indeed, those are the questions now, are they not?" confirmed Legolas softly. "I have agonized for hours today, contemplating things – decisions that needed to be made, that _have_ been made and yet at what _cost!_" he breathed, his gaze now lost beyond the six that listened carefully to his soft words, all puzzled at what decisions he was talking about.

"You were there, Elladan, when judgment was passed on my cousin - you saw the decision my father was forced into making, were privy to my objections and then to my own realization that my king had been right. You have ridden with me into the Mirkwood, have learned of the nature of darkness, you know that my father allows this, accepts it and therefore, you know the cost that comes with leadership and _that_, is why I have taken so long, have contemplated again and again, over what I believe is the right path." He breathed deeply, and then swiped his hand down his face before landing his luminescent eyes on those of Elladan, who stood staring at him, transfixed.

"Elladan, there has always been – close affinity between us, this we both know, 'tis but one more portend. Your time with me in The Company showed me your quality, my friend, and it also showed me that we are not meant to travel different paths, but the same one, and yet," he paused here, for this was the crux of his suffering, "and yet if I were to invite you onto it, if you were to tread _my _path, Elladan, you may lose your life – you may be sundered from all that you love, from those that love you. If you follow me, you may be required to lay down your very life for the greater good, it is a sacrifice you would need to accept – and although I want it - you with me, I do not want to lose you – Brother."

Glorfindel understood then, what it was that Legolas had been ticking over in his head all morning, and Mithrandir looked to the floor, knowing what was to come, and yet Elrond – Elrond approached Legolas hesitantly, his head cocked to one side lest he miss a single word he said to his son. Yet it was Elladan who spoke first.

"Legolas, I am a warrior, like you. Sacrifice is an inherent part of my chosen path – whether it be with or without you, you cannot protect me, shield me from harm – it is inevitable, Brother," explained Elladan softly, his eyes appealing to those of the Forest Lord, one who had called him brother for the first time outside the context of The Company.

"And yet," began Legolas once more, "should you follow me, you may find yourself at the Black Gates themselves, Elladan – face what very _few_ warriors have – if you do this, the cost will not be that of just _any_ warrior, Elladan, it will be much greater. You may face horrors you cannot begin to conjure even in dreams, death being the least of them."

"I _know,_" said Elladan steadily, his eyes fixed on the now only slightly misty green orbs of his friend, for the emotion inside them seemed to have dulled the light behind them, enough to see his irises once more. And as Legolas observed him, searched him for the truth, for the conviction he needed to see – he saw Elladan's mouth curl up so subtly it was almost lost – he _did_ know, of that Legolas no longer had any doubt.

"Then I will tell you part of what it is I have been considering over these past days, a question I must ask you, now that I know your heart – and my own."

Elrond felt his body prepare itself for calamity, and as the words tumbled from Legolas' and Elladan's mouths, his eyes grew wide and his heart hammered mercilessly in his chest, just as he felt a calming, weathered hand upon his tense shoulder – Mithrandir.

"Ask it…" said Elladan softly, a nascent smile on his face, wondering if now, the symbol of the Star Companion would make itself clearer to him. Menelvagor had clearly been Glorfindel, but Telumendil stood at his side, a heavenly friend, what did that make him, then, besides the obvious? He remembered thinking that one star shone brighter than the other, and for some reason he had assumed it to be himself – but _why_? His mind nudged him softly, something about Erestor's classes on natural science, something about orientating oneself in the night sky… however, before he could retrieve the memory, his friend, nay brother, spoke once more.

"Would you, Elladan Elrondion, follow in your father's footsteps? Would you follow me to victory, to defeat, to the Black Gates themselves if that is what it takes? Would you forsake your homeland and follow me …, as my Herald?"

Glorfindel's eyes were wide and round, as were Galdithion's as he realized the importance of his lover's answer, for this was the answer to their dilemma, surely Elladan would accept and they would not be parted ...

'_Would you follow in your father's footsteps_?' The words echoed in Elrond's mind as it slowly registered the question, looking to his son and watching as the smile disappeared from his strong face as the import of his friend's words sunk below the surface. '_Would you follow in your father's footsteps…_' his father, who had been Gil-Galad's Herald when Isildur's folly rendered it all for nothing.

Herald, Gil-Galad's Herald – and then that memory of Erestor came back to him in a flash, '_Elladan, you can find your way around the sky in many ways, for example, take Valacirca, this star here, the one that joins the sickle and handle, retrace two stars back, then extend the line until you come to the next brightest star – that will be the brightest in the Star Companion, for he sits next to the Swordsman, and points the way to the Hope of the Elves…'_

His eyes watered of their own accord as his hand moved to cover his mouth, '_for the Star Companion sits next to the Swordsman, and points the way to the Hope of the Elves_…' Herald to the Hope of Elves…yes, this was meant to be, he had been shown the way, the _Valar _had shown him what they wanted of him.

"Elladan," called Elrond, slightly alarmed at his son's reaction.

"I – it has all, just – come together," he whispered as he looked at his father in awe and disbelief.

"You have had a vision?" asked Elrond carefully, to which Mithrandir now bent forward, his own eyes alert and receptive.

Yet he did not answer the question straight away, but looked back at Legolas, who was still watching him closely.

"Why – why me?" he whispered.

"Because you are strong, wise, versed in many things, a natural leader who will be a great warrior. We of The Company already know this, yet more than this you are my _friend_. I love you, and I trust you, no one will do this better than you, and yet how I wish it were not so."

Stunned silence is all that ensued, as Elladan felt his heart expand almost painfully, taking a deep, audible breath to combat the physical effects of his thumping heart. How had Legolas known? Or was it the other way round?

"I – am – so deeply honored, my friend," he stammered out, glancing momentarily at his father, whose eyes were bright and round, his father who nodded subtly, Elladan's silent question thus answered, "and – I must tell you now, why it is that I have acted so – strangely. You see, yesterday, as I waited for things to happen, I distracted myself with a little star-gazing, at least that is what I thought. I was – _shown_, symbols of what I believe is to come. The Hope of the Elves – Legolas, a king of Arnor, hope of humans, The Swordsman – Glorfindel, and then myself, the Star Companion, Telumendil. I did not understand at the time, yet now…"

"Telumendil… points to Valacirca and vice-versa…. Herald to the Hope of the Elves," said Erestor, smiling then as he imagined how beautiful Elladan's experience must have been, how exquisitely the Valar had spoken to him.

"I _accept_ – my _Lord_!" whispered Elladan fiercely, faintly registering Galdithion's sigh of relief and joy.

King and Herald clasped each other's shoulders, searching each others' eyes, showing each other the depth of their feelings, of their faith the one in the other, understanding shining clearly in their eyes. Legolas had wanted to avoid what he knew was inevitable – he had wanted to avoid bringing danger upon his friend, and hurt upon himself, but that was not to be, for this was indeed fated, Legolas had known it, and Elladan had been shown in no uncertain terms.

They stayed that way until the ferocity of their emotions finally calmed and they both breathed once more, feeling the atmosphere around them relax almost visibly – if such a thing were possible, as if nature itself had sighed a mighty breath of relief.

Elladan returned to stand before his chair, grappling for Galdithion's hand and squeezing it almost smiled enigmatically at the Forest Lord, and although he said nothing, it seemed to Legolas that he was – _proud_, almost as a father would be. However, he could ponder no more on that, for he had not finished yet.

Turning to Glorfindel now, he steeled himself for the next part.

"Glorfindel, I have something to ask you too, a question I know you may need to ponder, for it does not depend solely upon you. I do not warn you of the danger involved, or of the nature of it, for of all of us here, you _know_."

"Ask me then, Legolas," replied Glorfindel, the spark of challenge in his eyes, and in Elladan's – dawning realization of what he would ask.

"What I ask of you will require great sacrifice, something that will carry you away from home, require your leadership skills, every drop of mastery as a warrior, as a leader of elves, and perhaps men. It will take you away from your Lord Elrond and his service here, in Imladris, albeit you would still serve him – in a sense. This is why I know this decision is not solely yours to take and yet – ask you I _will_."

"Ask me," he challenged now, the spark of fire dancing in his ancient eyes.

"I want you by my side, through all that is to come I would have you with me, _us_, he gestured to Galdithion and Elladan – will you serve me, serve the Greenwood, Lothlorien and Imladris, serve together with me, the elves of Middle-Earth - as High Constable?"

That tiny spark of fire in his eyes ignited into roaring flame, untamed and powerful, as Glorfindel of Gondolin stood tall before the Lord of the Forests, his warrior's heart swelling in pride at the honor placed before him, for this token of love, trust, respect and humility meant more to him than anything _ever_ had – almost as though his previous life had been but a trial – one he had had to pass, in order for his true destiny to become feasible, for what other purpose had it served? He had not saved his nation, for it had perished. True he had saved his people, what few had managed to escape the city – but then what warrior had not served in that capacity -as protector of his people? And yet one of those he _had_ saved, was the great grandfather of Legolas of The Greenwood…

"I – fought a Balrog, _Valarauko_, Melkor's protégé. I killed him, as he killed me. It terrified me, and I wonder if it terrified him – I think not, and yet I wonder. What you propose is to stand against Sauron himself, not his servant. For all that the darkness did to me, for all that it made me suffer, for bringing down the greatest of elven cities, for killing my people – for almost killing _you_… You ask me if I will accept the chance of smiting the bane of my _existences_?" he asked, staring into the king's eyes as his speech became more and more heart-felt, fierce, intense, angry almost. "I would have it _no – other – way_, for he and I have an unresolved issue, and with a mighty sword in my hand, and you in my heart, even should I die – _He_, will accompany me. Yes I will be your High Constable, should Elrond release me, I ask only that you give me first pickings – that I may pierce his black heart and watch his life energy leave him once and for all, as rats do a sinking ship – never to return. Will you then - in return, concede this boon?"

Would he? Would he be capable of watching the one who would become his bonded mate battle with Sauron himself? Stand on the sidelines, as he gave his life once more for the good of his people? Legolas did not think that would be his destiny again, and yet could he really defeat _Sauron_?

"I will give you first honors, but – I do not promise to remain impassive – I would intervene, should my help be needed," he said, his face set in stubborn determination, for on this he would not back down. The name his people used to refer to Glorfindel popped into his head unbidden just then, and his skin crawled, '_Golden Sacrifice_.'

A moment of silence passed before Glorfindel's eyes began to wander over the Forest Lord's face, peering into his eyes, searching … for what, Legolas did not know.

"Have you found what it is you search for?" asked Legolas softly.

"Yes," he murmured, "I have found it." He looked beautiful to Legolas then, his slightly wavy hair shining eerily bright under the last rays of afternoon sun, glinting playfully and sending sparks of pure gold into the space around him, his pale blue cape complementing his bright, determined eyes, eyes that reflected pride, intent, strength – and love - the symbol of his lost house blazing upon his chest.

Elladan stood and walked over to Legolas' side, until all three of them, King, Herald and High Constable, moved to stand before Elrond.

"You have my blessings, Lord Elladan - Lord Glorfindel," said Elrond, turning to Legolas once more. "You are blessed, my King" began Elrond, "for you take with you two that are extraordinary, two that are dear to my heart…" he whispered then.

Legolas looked to the floor, collecting himself, before meeting Elrond's eyes once more.

"And well I know it, my Lord. I can only say that I will endeavor to preserve them, for as they pledge service to me, so do I – to them," he swore then, and his face left no uncertainty in Elrond's mind, "and to you, my Lord."

It was Mithrandir who spoke up then, his hand still upon Elrond's shoulder.

"And I will help them, Elrond. In all that I can, I would join this endeavor, for this is my duty and Legolas has spoken both truly and wisely. The plan is solid, yet more than this, there simply is no other way."

Legolas smiled then, for the first time, before he addressed the wizard.

"And what are you to be then, High Wizard?" he smirked, cocking an eyebrow and garnering a snicker from Galdithion, who was promptly silenced by a poke in the ribs from Erestor.

"It sounds good enough to me, I will be content with that," said Mithrandir, his face softening at last and he smiled.

"You have done well, young king, very well indeed."

…

'_Would you – follow in your father's footsteps…'_

The darkness outside contrasted starkly with the deep orange glow inside Elrond's suite of rooms, where candles flickered on walls, tables, and every other surface to be had. The fire had also been lit, for however much they were now in late spring, living within a valley of waterfalls meant that the evenings were still chilly and humid.

Elrond stood on the balcony, his hands clasped behind him as he took in the peaceful pre-dawn hours. He could not rid himself of that sentence, as his mind wandered the different scenarios in which Elladan's duty would take place; the council chambers of Lothlorien, Greenwood, Mithlond, perhaps Rohan or Gondor, even. And then the battlefield; Mirkwood as the Sylvans called the southern reaches of their forest, Barad Dûr, the Plains of Rohan, Imladris' own borders…His life would not be boring, nay, but it might prove to be short – he stopped himself there, denying himself the freedom to ponder the what ifs – that his son could die a cruel death as Legolas had pointed out earlier.

Turning, he walked back into the room, smiling as he watched his lovers as they lounged lazily over the soft cushions before the fire, sipping on wine and touching each other affectionately.

After the council, they had retired to Elrond's suite, and signed their pledges with lust and love. Yet there had come a moment when the atmosphere had turned introspective, each lost in his own thoughts. Elrond had appointed himself the task of proclaiming a High King, and Erestor would be fundamental to him now, both politically and as his second in command, for Elrond knew his presence would be required much more often abroad now. It would also be a challenge for Elrohir, for he would learn at Erestor's side, he hoped. As for Glorfindel, he was to be High Constable, the new army's general and leader to each realm's appointed constable, answerable only to the king himself.

Legolas pulled a soft blanket around his shoulders as he sat up before the fire, allowing the flames to warm his chilled body, reaching for the glass of wine that Erestor now offered him. He really did not want to speak just yet, and it was just as well that his lovers would not press him to do so.

The silence stretched on, as Elrond finally walked inside to join them, leaning back with his own beverage cradled to his chest, noticing Legolas' pale face and the way he wrapped himself in the warmth of his blanket, and yet he suddenly smiled, surprising Elrond somewhat.

"Why are you smiling?" he asked.

The sentence filtered into his conscious mind too slowly, and the question was repeated.

"Legolas?" prompted Elrond.

"Forgive me, I was just thinking…"

"Tell us, then," invited Glorfindel as he sipped on his wine.

"I was thinking that we can do this. You and I, Glorfindel - Elrond, Erestor, Elladan, Galadriel – and Olorin. Between us, I begin to see that it is not folly at all, and although the odds are against us, neither is it foolishness to _believe _– "

"Believe what?" whispered Erestor, for he needed to hear it.

"That we can destroy Annatar, banish his evil and restore this Middle-Earth to light, that those who wish to stay may do so in joy and freedom. That I may restore the White Tree of Gondor, and with it, reinstate the unifying element…this is what I must believe…"

Sipping on his wine, Elrond glanced at his three lovers before speaking once more. "One year ago, I met an extraordinary being and everything shifted – the cogs and wheels of my mind began to whirl and click into place, until today – when everything has become clear to me. If anyone can do this, it is you, and this I will proclaim to the four corners of this Middle-Earth."

Silence regained dominance, but this time it was comfortable, a serene moment in which each of them had begun to feel at peace with reality, and their role within it, and although Legolas was still not comfortable with what Elrond was proposing, neither did it bother him as it had done just hours before, when he had doubted his own claim to that, the highest of ranks amongst the elves.

"I- have a gift for you, Glorfindel," began Legolas, turning their attention back to him. "I have not had the chance before now," he said, as he deposited his glass and limped over to where he had left his satchel, reaching inside and pulling out a small velvet bag.

Walking back to the fire, Legolas spoke once more, his heart hammering chaotically now, for he knew the importance that this gesture would have for his lover.

Glorfindel took a long drink from the goblet that Elrond had handed him, smiling in delight as he stood to meet his lover, a curious Elrond and Erestor watching on, and yet Glorfindel was suddenly puzzled at the solemnity of Legolas' face.

"Legolas, what is it?" he asked.

"Close your eyes? Close your eyes and hear me, Glorfindel," he said, "for I have a story to tell you."

"Very well, a surprise then!" he said in one last attempt to lighten the mood, closing his eyes as a smile lodged itself stubbornly on his face. Yet to his utter surprise, no sooner had he closed them, he felt his lover's fingers undoing the clasps of his shirt.

"Oh, 'tis a game, then!" he exclaimed, his smile widening, yet the answer he received again, surprised him.

"Nay," said Legolas softly, pushing back the fabric until Glorfindel stood bare-chested before him.

"Beautiful," he whispered, as his free hand traced the grooves of muscle from his lover's jaw, down his neck, ghosting over a collar bone, a nipple, until he smoothed his hand over the well-developed bicep.

"Destiny, is a strange thing, my friends," he began. "On my return to the Greenwood one year ago, I happened to find myself in my father's vaults, deep under the fortress. I go there sometimes, for my family's legacy chests lie there – items left to those that remain," he explained slowly, softly, as a bard would recite a poem of old. "I made for my mother's belongings, as I am sometimes wont to do. Her drawings, her writings, dresses… it was then that this caught my eye, Glorfindel…"

He deftly placed the armband over Glorfindel's bicep, yet he kept his own hands over it. However, it had been impossible to completely shield it from the avid eyes of Erestor and Elrond, who gasped in shock, yet remained silent, lest they be wrong.

"Open your eyes, my love."

Glorfindel did, the smile now gone from his face as he looked down, seeing only his lover's hands. "What have you put there, Legolas?" he asked softly, puzzled eyes now trained on Legolas.

"Something that should never have left you, something that was found and delivered to the only one that could find you, even though you had died…"

The silence was absolute now, as Elrond and Erestor stood in a swirl of dark heavy robes, and Glorfindel continued to look at his lover in stunned incomprehension. It was clear that whatever had been placed on his arm was something of significance, to Legolas and to him, for the gesture had been most reverent.

"Thorondor, Glorfindel. You saw him, didn't you? In the Evergreen Wood…"

"Yes," he whispered, "yes I saw him. I thought you lost in reverie…"

"He recovered you, upon the slopes of your lost city, and yet that was not all that he did. He found this and passed it on to Legaelair, who handed it down to his daughter, who kept it in her legacy chest in the Greenwood, before I, great grandchild of the Lord of the Silver Tree, came quite unexpectedly upon it. I return it to you now, Lord Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower, High Constable."

And with that, he slowly removed his hands, leaving the ornate armband uncovered to the unbelieving eyes of those that now examined it in open-mouthed shock.

Glorfindel could not stop the tearful gasp that escaped him as his own hand moved to cover the bracelet, the tips of his fingers moving over the swirls and grooves he knew so well, tracing the entwining metal in its pattern of eternity.

He turned his back on them, and all but staggered out onto the balcony until the railings touched his thighs, his breath coming in great heaves, as tears of shock poured from his wide, searching eyes.

They left him there, for a few moments, knowing what this moment must mean to him. It was a stunning turn of events, just one more symbol of destiny, one more reason to believe that their conjectures, their plan, was indeed, the right path.

Glorfindel took deep breaths, finally steadying himself, his tears drying in the soft breeze that tickled his hair as his sparkling blue eyes gazed out onto the horizon. From the corner of his eye, he knew that Legolas had joined him there, his green gaze also fixed beyond the trees to the streak of lightening sky.

"I am complete," whispered Glorfindel. "No more grief, no more sorrow save that which is to come. I am strong once more, as you shall soon be – stronger than you _ever _were, High King," he said as he turned his head to stare at his lover's profile, a subtle smile gracing it.

"Then let us go forth, you and I. Help me back to strength and we shall set out on the greatest of adventures, the most challenging of tasks. The Valar command me, Glorfindel, and by following me, they do you too – and yet they already did, I think. Shall we do this, then?" He asked as he too, turned to face his lover. "Shall we step forth and see what awaits us, on the horizon?"

"Yes," smiled Glorfindel as he placed a soft palm over Legolas' cheek, moving forwards and then taking his lips in a kiss so tender and yet so meaningful, charged with pure energy and utter devotion, as if he could breathe life into him – banish all thoughts of self doubt and guilt, and replace them with peace and serenity, such as he himself could only feel with Legolas at his side.

Pulling back a little, the first rays of sun flared between them - another day was dawning, and with it would come the promise of freedom, freedom of _choice_. Elrond and Erestor stood behind them, each rejoicing as those nascent rays of brilliant sun flared behind their golden hair and set it aflame, filling it all with light and hope.

THE END


End file.
